RP:Beyond Veil's Azure
§ Beyond Veil's Azure § A COLLABORATIVE CREATIVE ROLEPLAY INTEGRATING COMMUNITY AND CREATIVE STORYTELLING The roleplay has begun! Anyone may still join. Please feel free to join, and then to write as the roleplay continues. Contact RelentlessRecusant if there's any questions. IN EVERY WAR, THERE ARE MULTIPLE STRATEGIES. Attack and siege. Defense and retreat. Final stands and glorious battles. These have all been tried before. By the UNSC and the Covenant, by the Forerunners and Flood before them. War has never been waged any other way, until now. '''It starts, a rogue scarlet spark pulsating in the midnight dark.' It swells, engorging with blood and strength, drawing together her countless, vast armies. She is a depthless infinity, a boundless expanse, and existence in herself, alpha and omega held in her hands. Velvet darkness descends, slaying the graceful dawn, suffocating the stars. This is a story of an ending of an age. How darkness overthrows two hundred millennia of humanity, turns back the clock. This is the end. The twilight of the UNSC. It starts now. THE YEAR IS 2594 — four decades after the end of the Human-Covenant War. The War was long ago. We healed from those scars. Human ambition has leaped across the stars, and we have spread thousands of colonies across the stars, scattering our seed around the galaxy. We are a wildfire, and with every year comes another breakthrough. Medical science has saved countless lives from disease. Governmental power has been returned to the civilian population from the military dictatorship. The rich grow richer, but supercorporations make the necessities of life available even to the poor. We all prosper. WE BEAT SWORDS INTO PLOWSHARES. We are the friends and economic partners of the Covenant. We are safe. Our heroes, the soldiers of the War, now rest with their grandchildren at home. We are at peace. THE ENEMY BIDES HER TIME. With every victory, we lose. With every breakthrough, she breaks through us. She sabotages our society, falling us to our knees. She has waited in the dark of dusk too long. NIGHT FALLS ON HUMANITY. THE END IS NOW, BEYOND THE VEIL'S AZURE. __TOC__ Introduction "Beyond Veil's Azure" is a tentative collaborative roleplay written by RelentlessRecusant and possibly co-written in collaboration with other administrators. More information to follow. :) Specific information is not available at the time, but interested participants may for the interim contact me at my talk page or . It may be likely that Dragonclaws and / or Rotaretilbo (both administrators of Halo Fan Fiction Wikia) will have moderator positions. Plotline Background BEYOND VEIL'S AZURE is the second epoch of the Halo continuity. The Human-Covenant War and the Halo installations, our feuds with the Covenant; all this and more has been forgotten. It is peace within the veil. This is the next generation of Halo. We star new characters, new heroes, a new epic. The UNSC Defense Force is now truly a defense force, a territorial force that patrols our colonies. Long forgotten are the titanic weapons and gargantuan vehicles of the War. We forget that we once spilled our blood to ensure that humanity's tender flame was kindled. Our diminished, withered armies and navies do not care for warfare; we have not fought a single battle for nearly forty years. We keep our homes safe from terrorists, from rebels, from pirates. Our special forces are no longer the SPARTANs, those titans that fought the Covenant and shed their blood on our soil. We now have the Myrmidons, the second generation of SPARTANs; highly capable child soldiers with advanced augmentations and training that specifically perform counterterrorism actions. We do not wage war anymore with any armies. We ask you to fill the rosters of our new humanity. Characters are specifically requested to be UNSC special warfare operators, either in the UNSC Army Ranger Corps, in UNSC Force Reconnaissance, in the UNSC Navy Naval Special Warfare, or in the Office of Naval Intelligence's elite Myrmidon next-generation SPARTAN company. We are highly interested in skilled writers and roleplayers that will make very unique characters, and we are definitely amenable to accepting highly unique and interesting civilian characters or those from other branches of service. As nighttime draws its cloak across us, there will be warfare, of shed blood, of dying worlds, dying stars. This will be an action-oriented roleplay (RP), featuring both detailed counterterrorism and atrocious large-scale battles. The UNSC special forces fulfill a unique role in the UNSC Defense Force that gives them maximum capability to be involved. Please speak to RelentlessRecusant about your characters; he offers an opportunity to collaborate with authors that have especially unique characters, and is highly willing to collaborate to form FOTM-grade articles that may be competitively nominated in the future for the Fanon of the Month. This is intended to be a talented and creative project, and we all look forward to the possibilities. Dramatis Personae Playable Factions This is a list of special forces factions that we encourage roleplayers to create characters in and to actively participate in the main plotline, which revolves around the operators of Task Force 51 in their counterinsurgency operations and their unconventional actions to follow... We are highly interested, however, in extremely unique characters and welcome characters that are not limited to these SF units, especially civilians. *'UNSC Ranger Corps' (UNSC Army) ::The Rangers are the principal reaction force of the UNSC Special Operations Command. At the battalion level, they are an integrated, flexible joint strike force integrating forces across the operational continuum; combining elite light infantry, mechanized forces, aviation assets, indirect fires, and support elements into a singular high-mobility task force that is prepared to reflexively react to hostile conditions in the battlespace. Ranger forces actively support the UNSCSOCOM mission and Ranger infantrymen support operators of Task Force 51. *'UNSC Naval Special Warfare' (UNSC Navy) ::UNSC Naval Special Warfare (NAVSPECWAR) is a tier-one UNSC Special Operations Command division, and is primarily an elite military counterterrorism and counterinsurgency force. While the actions of the Human-Covenant War have forced NAVSPECWAR to perform more mainstream roles in the expansion of the strategic options of UNSC theater commanders, where NAVSPECWAR participated in special reconnaissance and strategic strikes, with the advent of the War's end, NAVSPECWAR has returned to its more traditional counterterrorism and counterinsurgency roles, and NAVSPECWAR Six operators are a core force of Task Force 51. *'UNSC Marine Force Reconnaissance' (UNSC Marine Corps) ::UNSC Marine Force Reconnaissance (FORCE RECON) is a conventional special operations force (SOF) of the UNSC Special Operations Command, and during the Human-Covenant War, participated in special operations across the battlespace spectrum, performing deep reconnaissance to expand the intelligence assets of the theater commander and providing direct action to surgically obstruct the operations of the hostile contingent and limit the tactical options of the enemy commander. FORCE RECON operators field counterinsurgency roles in Task Force 51. *'UNSC Special Warfare Group SPARTAN' (UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence) **'II Detachment' ("SPARTAN-IIs") ::The SPARTAN-IIs of UNSC Special Warfare Group SPARTAN, |Detachment II manifest themselves in the form of a single, three-person team in Task Force 51. Highly experienced in covert operations, sabotage, and causing general havoc behind enemy lines, the IIs of Azure Team were, and are still, hailed as "the heroes of Minorca". **'III Detachment' ("SPARTAN-IIIs") ::The SPARTAN-IIIs of UNSC Special Warfare Group SPARTAN, Detachment III are a company-level asset in Task Force 51. They are highly experienced shock troops with counterinsurgency experience, and are the mentors of the younger Myrmidons. **'IV Detachment' ("Myrmidons") ::The Myrmidons of UNSC Special Warfare Group SPARTAN, Detachment IV are a company-level asset in Task Force 51. Myrmidon special warfare operators are principal operators on all counterinsurgency and counterterrorism operations performed by TF51, and are characterized by their expeditious speed and surgical efficiency, and Myrmidon operations are high-risk direct action missions that exactingly neutralize an enemy's strategic options, disabling rather than destructive, leaving the enemy commander vulnerable to conventional UNSC infantry forces. Friendly UNSC Forces *'Task Force 51' (TF51): UNSC joint strike force that integrates elite operational detachments from every uniformed service in UNSCSOCOM and strategic intelligence from the UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence to surgically cauterize increasing concentrations of destructive insurgent activity in the UNSC Outer Rim (the "Borderlands"). Task Force 51 responsibilities principally include counterinsurgency and counterproliferation (CP) of weapons of mass destruction, but also include counterterrorism (CT), psychological operations (PSYOPS), foreign internal defense (FID) and unconventional warfare (UW) to raise indigenous forces against rebellion, and civil-military operations (CMO) to align indigenous forces to the UNSC cause and to obstruct rebel or terrorist recruiting. *'Kawika Son': Decorated former NAVSPECWAR Six operator that participated in notable combat actions, such as the Battle of Cambridge, the Battle of the Ark, and the hunt for the Forerunner Dreadnaught. Currently holds rank of Vice Admiral (VADM, O-9) with the UNSC Navy / UNSC Special Operations Command, and serves as the senior director of the Myrmidon Program. Because of the major deployment of Myrmidon squadrons to TF51, he also serves as the commander of Task Force 51, and Admiral Son has been principally responsible for TF51 and the majority of UNSC counterinsurgency operations in the Outer Rim. *'UNSC Counterforce Task Force' (CTF): UNSC Navy / UNSC Medical Corps noncombatant task force attached to UNSCSOCOM responsible for the consequence management of the deployment of weapons of mass destruction (WMD), such as thermonuclear capabilities or chem-biol capabilities, or else weapons of mass effect (WME), such as high-yield explosives or the usage of orbital weapons. CTF specialists are often attached to Task Force 51 counterproliferation (CP) operations, where they are expected to suppress, neutralize, and defuse active WMDs and also counterterrorism (CT) operations involving the threat of WMD or WME deployment. *'[[UNSC Beyond Veil's Azure|UNSC ''Beyond Veil's Azure]]: UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence / UNSC Navy stealth frigate currently on reconnaissance-in-force deployment in the Sagittarius Arm, tens of thousands of light-years towards the Galactic Core, far away from the UNSC Outer Rim and Task Force 51's counterinsurgency operations. *Kimberly Ivy Blackburn: Former special warfare operator of the UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence, Section Three, and the integral force of PATRIOT / FORECAST. Now forty years old, ten years ago, a highly controvertible arrangement between SPARTAN-091, and Beah Schore, the UNSC Defense Council has resulted in her voluntary retirement from UNSC Special Operations Command. Nepotistic connections with Schore have granted her a position at Harvard University, Department of Stem Cell & Regenerative Biology and Harvard Stem Cell Institute at Cambridge, Massachusetts in Sherman-Fairchild Biochemistry, where she is a Whitney Hayes postdoctoral fellow. She was the paradigm behind the Myrmidon initiative, and was the first demonstration that a human embryo can be manipulated through a chemical biology platform of small-molecule chemical probes, and that combinatorial teratogenesis and postnatal manipulation favorably promotes militarily-useful biological traits. She was an experimental platform for the experimental in utero usage of SCARLET, a Flood mimetic comprised of small-molecule compounds that in vitro is a mutagen and teratogen that promotes the extremely rare expression of quasi-Flood characteristics in cultured cell lines in tissue culture. Recently, the dissection of the molecular mechanisms behind Flood physiology has led to significant advances in stem cell biology and regenerative medicine, and the UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence is interested in the harnessing of particular Flood characteristics, such as augmented cellular regeneration through non-focal telomeric activity, and also modified myocyte physiology, which have been of investigation in the Myrmidon Program. She is a noncombatant on Earth without combat capability. *UNSC Reconnaissance Aviation Expeditionary Force' ('RAVEN): UNSC Army special aviator unit, operating fixed-wing and rotary aviation assets in support of UNSC special operations forces. RAVEN is a support force of Task Force 51, and has logistical and deployment responsibilities in support of UNSC special forces. Principal Plotlines is the home to Midgard and Task Force 51, the humble beginnings of Beyond Veil's Azure.]] *"Task Force 51" (Midgard): UNSC special forces counter an onslaught of highly intensive terrorist and rebel activities on Midgard, a planet in the Outer Rim. Substantial deaths of UNSC civilians and guerrilla attrition of UNSC soldiers stationed on the planet have led to the popular labeling of Midgard as the "new Iraq" or the "new Charybdis IX", and the inability of UNSC forces to put an end to the killings has led to the frustration of many in the UNSC civilian populace and the UNSC military. Task Force 51, led by VADM Kawika Son, is now the main player in UNSC counterinsurgency operations on Midgard. Hundreds of thousands of civilians have been killed after thousands of small rebel and terrorist activities; guerilla attacks, hostage events, bombings. However, a rare few suspect that this is only the beginning of something far larger. It is inevitable that actions on Midgard will climax as the civilian and military casualties mount. ('''Principal plotline) *"Arms Exchange": The freighter Arcturus was seized in orbit over Midgard by UNSC Navy forces, yielding in the capture of tens of thousands of firearms and explosives; enough weapons to sustain an entire infantry brigade. Even more disturbingly, the weapons are marked with the insignia of Jennings & Rall, a pre-eminent UNSC corporation. There is an ongoing UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence investigation into the subterfuge of the Arcturus and J&R and thoughts lead to a dangerous place; in these imperiled times, trust none. *"Deep Reconnaissance": In 2554, the [[UNSC Beneath Shoreless Waves|UNSC Beneath Shoreless Waves]], a guided missile frigate (FFG) of the UNSC Navy, found a Forerunner construct on Carinae-312 in the NGC 3576 nebula, towards the Galactic Core, which led to the brief but bloody Memory Conflict, almost collapsing the UNSC in a matter of days. However, the discovery of more Forerunner installations beyond the Halos has excited many UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence officers, and a select number of UNSC warships, such as the [[UNSC Beyond Veil's Azure|UNSC Beyond Veil's Azure]], have been dispatched on deep reconnaissance missions thousands of light-years away in the Sagittarius or Cygnus Arms of the Milky Way Galaxy under Operation: PURPLE WILLOW. A small Myrmidon team is aboard the UNSC Beyond Veil's Azure, and the Beyond Veil's Azure and its UNSC special forces team are set to reconnoiter the Henize 3-1357 nebula in the ongoing search for Forerunner installations. *"Pandora's Box" *"A Troubled Home Front": Isolated curious happenstances have coincidentally conflicted with rebel and terrorist activity in the Outer Rim. In 2590, Madeline Son, the daughter of UNSC special forces commanders Kawika Son and Chandler Danial and a UNSC Naval Special Warfare specialist, went missing on a deep reconnaissance in the Cygnus Arm of the galaxy aboard the [[UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth|UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth]] during reconnaissance of NGC 2359. Intensive search-and-rescue (SAR) and hostage search operations for months have yielded no trace of Madeline nor the Beckon Dusk Forth, and ceremonies for Madeline were held at the Asphodel Meadows Naval Special Warfare Center. Ever since, both Admiral Son and Master Chief Danial have been socially withdrawn and disturbed by the loss of their daughter thousands of light-years from Earth. Roleplay Locations was the site where the [[UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth|UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth]] and Madeline Son were lost.]] More to come soon. In order to keep the RP principally focused, the beginning of the RP, which features Task Force 51's actions, center on Midgard. Shortly afterwards the RP will become much more freeform and will occur on multiple locations, as per the desire of the roleplayers. *'Midgard' (11 Draconis System): Please see the actual page for more information. Principal location for the beginning of the roleplay, and host to Task Force 51's counterinsurgency operations. *'Henize 3-1357': Planetary nebula, the reconnaissance target of the [[UNSC Beyond Veil's Azure|UNSC Beyond Veil's Azure]] under deep reconnaissance campaign Operation: PURPLE WILLOW, eight thousand-light years from Earth towards the Galactic Core and Sagittarius A*, in the Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy. *'Cambridge, Earth' (Sol System): Home to Harvard University, and home to Kimberly Ivy Blackburn. (non-playable) *'NGC 2359': Emission nebula, the reconnaissance target of the [[UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth|UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth]] under deep reconnaissance campaign Operation: PURPLE WILLOW, fifteen thousand-light years from Earth towards the edge of the galaxy, the Cygnus Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy. The [[UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth|UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth]] and Madeline Son went missing-in-action (MIA) during deep reconnaissance of NGC 2359 in 2590, and two years of intensive UNSC Navy search and rescue (SAR) operations have failed to find any of the UNSC personnel. (non-playable) Roleplay Characters Please post characters here :) We encourage users to make characters that are Rangers, NAVSPECWAR, FORCE RECON, SPARTAN, or Myrmidon forces. We are, however, highly interested in extremely unique characters, either in the military or in civilian life. For the beginning of BVA, the plotline will center on Task Force 51 on Midgard. Afterwards, the RP will take a sharp change for the worse (if all goes as planned =P), and conventional UNSC forces, such as naval and infantry forces, will be extensively featured in a very freeform roleplay. =] Sgt.johnson's characters *Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel White (Rangers) - Secondary support operative for the Cambridge Rangers, he joined the UNSC Army Ranger Corps after requesting an MOS change, and is now the commander of 38/6 Ranger Battalion, leading from the front. *SPARTAN-290 (SPECWAR SPARTAN/Task Force 51) - Senior Chief Petty Officer Jamal-002 is known for his harshness and brutality, and his belief that in war, you have to take the gloves off. Being the CQB specialist of Azure Team, Jamal has mastered several martial arts, and enjoys using a shotgun. *SPARTAN-019 (SPECWAR SPARTAN/Task Force 51) - Chief Petty Officer Gabriel-019 is known for being one of the best Snipers the UNSC has to offer, right after Jared-091. His favored load out consists of an SRS and an M7 for personal defense. *SPARTAN-130 (SPECWAR SPARTAN/Task Force 51) - Chief Petty Officer Helen-130 is the demotions expert for Azure Team, and is known for turning explosives into an art form. Mastering math, she knows exactly how much to use on any form of target, turning things into a masterpiece, or something entirely different. *Kyle Davidson (President of HRV Armament Company) - A member of a Colonial Militia on an Outer Ring world, he quickly became intrigued into the design of weapons, and after getting a doctorate in Engineering, he joined the HRV Armament Company. After rising through the ranks of the Research and Development section, he became the CEO of HRV. RelentlessRecusant's characters Myrmidon Program (UNSC Special Warfare Group SPARTAN) *CPO Eve-005 (Chief Petty Officer, E-7) *CMDR Florian-021 (Commander, O-5) *PO1 Alyssa-028 (Petty Officer 1st Class, E-6) *LTJG Bjorn-047 (Lieutenant Jr. Grade, O-2) *PO2 Gordon-055 (Petty Officer 2nd Class, E-5) *CAPT Raphael-064 (Captain, O-6) *PO2 Daphne-097 (Petty Officer 2nd Class, E-5) UNSC Naval Special Warfare (UNSC Navy) *CPO Quentin Lovejoy (Chief Petty Officer, E-7) Task Force 51 Command Element (UNSC Special Operations Command) *VADM Kawika Son (UNSC Special Operations Command): Commander, Task Force 51 and Commander, Myrmidon Program, strategic commander of Midgard Campaign. Vice Admiral of the UNSC Navy (O-9). *LTCOL Mariko (UNSC Marine Corps): Staff Operations Officer (J3) of Task Force 51, ex-FORCE RECON. Lieutenant Colonel of the UNSC Marine Corps (O-4). Non-interactable *Kimberly Ivy Blackburn (Harvard University, Department of Stem Cell & Regenerative Biology): Helen Hay Whitney Postdoctoral Fellow in the Schore Laboratory, research interests include phenotypic effects of ectopically-expressed Flood-mimicking transcription factors and successive exogenous transdifferentiation / reprogramming processes. Master Chief Petty Officer (Ret.) of the UNSC Navy (E-9). *Madeline Son (UNSC Naval Special Warfare Group Six): Partial mission history of NGC 2359 deep reconnaissance (DR) campaign of Operation: PURPLE WILLOW in 2590, including the personnel of the [[UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth|UNSC Beckon Dusk Forth]] and various operators of NAVSPECWAR Six. Lieutenant, Jr. Grade of the UNSC Navy (O-2). ODST Joshie's Characters: *Joshua Stevenson (8th Irish Ranger Regiment / Task Force 51) Juliet Company's CO, been with the Regiment for 6 Years. *SPARTAN-G024 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51) Team Wolf's leader and one of the Few remaining S-IIIs from that Team, he is a cold calculated Killer. *SPARTAN-G094 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51) One of the Last S-IIIs from Team Wolf, is a wizard when it comes to Demolitions. *SPARTAN-G173 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51) The last alive member from Team Wolf barring the other two, is the Teams second sniper after Andrew died. *Wes Samsung (8th Irish Ranger Regiment / Task Force 51) Member of 3rd Battalions Air Assault Pilot Platoon.## *Vernon Martin (8th Irish Ranger Regiment / Task Force 51) Sniper in Juliet Company. *Richard McKay (8th Irish Ranger Regiment / Task Force 51) Sniper in Juliet Company and Grand Nephew of Melissa McKay Delta Team Curt's characters *Colonel Curtis Freeman - UNSC Marine Force Reconnaissance. A veteran special forces operator, Freeman has become a seasonded officer within FORCE RECON. *Corporal Cosette Freeman - UNSC Marine Force Reconnaissance. Daughter of Curtis Freeman and Lilya Moskvina. She has undergoje NAVSPECWAR training and currently serves within FORCE RECON for counterterroism operations on Midgar. *Admiral Alexander Bodet - [[UNSC Normandy|UNSC Chechnya]]. Aging Admiral of the Human-Covenant War, his ship was found five years ago with 27 crew members in cryostasis after having been lost in late 2551 on the edge of UNSC space. In the changing face of war, he struggles to fit into the modern navy and has to live with the fact he has outlived everyone he has ever known. *Tara Delano - Davenport Electronics Director of Internal Computer Infrastructure. A former special forces operator of the UNSC, Delano settled down following her retirement and used her skills in computer technologies to secure a job working with Jennings & Rall as a computer technician for internal computer systems, eventually rising to lead the entire department. *Calvin Marks - Ravenwood Solutions Contractor. Former Ranger, Marks joined Ravenwood three years ago to support his family on Atlas, during several contracts he has gone above and beyond to safeguard his fellow contractors and make sure the job is done safely. *James Carter - Jennings & Rall Director of Shipping and Logistics (J&R Administrative Division). Director of Logistics for J&R, Carter has always been keen when it came to organization, his gift has landed him in a spot running the entire section of J&R in cuarge of supplying the companies vast number of locations. Actene's Characters *SPARTAN-G294 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51): Simon-G294 gained infamy as the only SPARTAN to ever betray the UNSC when he deserted the military and murdered a superior officer as a result of the New Africa Incident. After over two decades of being harbored in cryosleep by the Sanghelli, he and fellow SPARTAN Cassandra were awakened and recruited to train the Myrmidons. While mostly inferior when it comes to combat, Simon has proved time and time again that he has an unmatched knack for survival and self-preservation and is not above running from a fight when the odds do not favor him. *SPARTAN-G006 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51): Critically wounded during the New Africa Incident, Cassandra-G006 was rescued from certain euthanasia by her rogue comrade Simon and became his reluctant companion as he fled the UNSC. After their stint in cryostasis the pair were recruited to help train the Myrmidons. Like Simon, her combat skills are poor for a SPARTAN but she makes up for this deficiency through her skills as a medic. *Agent 2994 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51): A member of ONI's High Priority Assassination Program, the man known by his designation of "2994" grew tired of life in the military and retired to become a civilian engineer. He was drawn back into military life and recruited to train the Myrmidons and has since accepted the name of Apollo to replace his forgotten original. *Artemis 2995 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51): The HPA's top agent, Agent 2995 rechristened herself Artemis after her true name was forgotten during the HPA's brutal indoctrination process. In this time of prosperity, she was repurposed to train the Myrmidons and was responsible for the recruitment of fellow agent 2994. *SPARTAN-MYR094: One of the only Myrmidons to bond with Instructor Simon-G294 during training, Redmond-MYR094's admiration of his unorthodox instructor soon turned to a form of hero-worship. He shares many of Simon's traits, including his preference for tactics that favor self-preservation, and acts as something of an adjutant to Simon in the field. The two of them often operate as a two man squad and prefer to keep their distance from other teams. He is very loyal to Simon and follows him everywhere, regardless of whether Simon wants him to or not. *Agent 2042: Once an HPA agent, this master hacker jumped at the first chance to retire. Bored with civilian life, he became a mercenary working for the highest bidder. After being hired by an old associate to investigate the UNSC's Alice in Wonderland program, he was marked for death by the UNSC. Now on the run, he is determined to find out as much about AIW as possible and is beginning to wonder if he is becoming a revolutionary idealist rather than a mercenary. *See Halo: Beckon Forth Sunrise, a short story written by RelentlessRecusant and approved by Actene, that provides a partial introduction for Actene's charas into BVA :) ShockTrooper's Characters *Daniel Jackson (FORCE RECON): UNSC Marine of the UNSC Marine Force Reconnaissance, UNSC Marine Special Forces Detachment. Jackson holds the rank of Sergeant. Daniel Jackson fought in the Human-Covenant War, Battle of Peleliu II, and conducted Top-Secret Military Operations. Jackson lost his Family in the Human-Covenant War and has developed Cold and Sociopathic Personality. Jackson is well known for executing Wounded and Unarmed Rebels and Remnant Soldiers. *Rick Johnson (FORCE RECON): UNSC Marine of the UNSC Marine Force Reconnaissance, UNSC Marine Special Forces Detachment. Johnson holds the rank of Sergeant. Rick Johnson comes from an Family with an Extensive and Decorated History in the Military, having an Loyalty towards the UNSC, and is an Exceptional UNSC Marine FORCE RECON Operator of Task Force 51. 117649 Annihilative Repentance's Characters *Caleb Tyler: A hardened member of the UNSC Army Ranger Corps, Caleb Tyler has seen his share of bloodshed throughout his Special Operations career. And despite his innate pacifism, his patriotism has gotten the better of his judgement; him and his fireteam are willing to shoot and kill anything they are told to, if it is for the good of the UNSC. FightWithHonor's Characters *'Lee F. Winslow':Although paralyzed by an injury suffered in a Warthog crash, Lee has followed in the foosteps of uncle Shelby F. Winslow by working as a planner, analyst and strategist for UNSCSOCOM, outlining objectives and missions for UNSCSOCOM. Lee's disability prevents him from operating in the field, and as a civilian working in SOCOM headquarters he will make an admirable balance to the high-ranking officers he works alongside, and the elite special operators he controls in the field. *'Marvin Ackerby':A member of the UNSC Special Operations Aviation Unit (UNSCSPOAU), Ackerby is a Chief Warrant Officer, responsible for piloting the air and spacecraft UNSC special operators rely upon so heavily for stealthy and safe combat insertion. *'Santiago Nordmann':Descendant of American missionaries to Ecuador and Cofan natives, Nordmann was raised in the jungle, and applies the survival skills he learned as a child to good use on the battlefield with the elite operators of NAVSPECWAR 6. *'Daniel Nikos':Of Greek ancestry, Nikos is a member of the UNSC Marine Orbital Incursion Group. Although new to combat, Nikos' ODST training has prepared him for even the most hazardous situations. His resourcefulness and fighting spirit are worthy of his Greek Resistance ancestors. *'Kevin Red Songbird':Proudly of Native American lineage, Kevin's individualism is put to good use by UNSC Forward Airborne Reconnaissance, where his quick mind and hunter's instincts prove vital on a slew of desolate worlds. *'Niel Van Warden':Member of the Rangers, Van Warden is an innovative tactician, dreaming up a slew of marginally insane tactics and bombarding his superiors with them. Although many regard him as overeager, his quick mind will prove even more valuable than his courage. Subtank's Character *'Sarah Rose': Freshly out of bootcamp, Alex is a UNSC Medic deployed with the UNSC Rangers. A Greenhorn, she has yet seen a single blood stain and wished she never have to deal with one. Her first field experience would change her life, military-wise. Jawsredfield's Character *'Jon Harper': During his middle time years working for ONI, Jon was part of NAVSPECWAR Six and was part of Task Force Blue. H3's Characers *'Myrmidon-012' (Myrmidon): SPARTAN-MYR012 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51) *'Myrmidon-036' (Myrmidon): SPARTAN-MYR036 (SPECWAR SPARTAN / Task Force 51) Ascension's Character *'Eli Khawaja': Unknown Zensun's Character *'Frederick Russey': a NavSpecWar Six operative, member of Task Force Blue. Interested Participants Sign below :) Feel free to speak to me about this and find out details before you think it through. Everyone is allowed to join :) #RelentlessRecusant #Sgt.johnson #Actene #FightWithHonor #ODST Joshie #Kebath 'Holoree #SPARTAN-118 #H3 #Jawsredfield #ONI recon 111 #Subtank/Ascension #ShockTrooper #117649 Annihilative Repentance #Chim #Zensun Acknowledgments RelentlessRecusant gratefully acknowledges the assistance of Lieutenant D.W. of the Singapore Army, Singapore Armed Forces, for assistance with the military aspects of Beyond Veil's Azure, and acknowledges various members of Harvard Stem Cell Institute, UMDNJ-RWJ University Hospital, and UMDNJ-RWJ Medical School for mentorship and ethical and technical thoughts regarding the augmentation protocols for Kimberly Ivy Blackburn and the Myrmidons. Archive *'Archive I' Roleplay 66 SPARTAN-G006, Cassandra, sat with her back against a hallway wall and focused on her breathing. It was a good concentration technique made even more valuable by its ability to cleanse her mind. It was a practice that had kept her sane throughout her time on this terrible, terrible planet. If there had been any wounded in the convoy, they had been seen to before she could arrive with her field medic gear, so she had returned with the others to Hotel California. Now she had found a secluded spot and begun to concentrate on nothing else besides her breathing as she tried to force out the images of the Warthogs disintegrating under a hailstorm of bullets, of men coming apart as explosions tore through there vehicles. She heard rapidly quickening footsteps and saw Simon coming quickly down the hall. He didn't seem to notice her as he turned into a public bathroom. She heard his pace become a run, and then the opening, closing and locking of a stall door and the unmistakable sound of someone losing not only their lunch, but their breakfast, dinner, previous lunch, and previous breakfast as well. ---- Apollo unstrapped his MJOLNIR armor and carefully placed the pieces in a rigid military pile on the ground. When he had heard the Lieutenant Commander order the commandos not to fire, his training had kicked in and he had instinctively stayed his hand. But then he had realized that the Lieutenant had not had the authority to countermand an order from a commodore and blazed away at the convoy. He didn't know what to feel about the deaths of the men in the Warthogs. He'd killed plenty of bystanders when the "no witnesses" directive had been issued and had never given it a second thought. This time was no different. He had only been following orders. He switched on his computer and checked his messages. He smiled when he saw one from Agent 2042. The hacking expert had opted to stay out of the military after retiring, and had proved invaluable to Apollo by researching a certain program, Alice in Wonderland, that had caught his interest. Apollo had employed the former agent to do some dirt digging through the UNSC's files about the subject. Apollo's smile vanished, however, when he opened the message and read its contents: To: Agent 2994 From: Agent 2042 Subject: I may not be collecting my fee after all Don't try to message me or contact me in any way after reading this message. I won't be able to dig any further for some time now. As I was creeping through the UNSC's files, I managed to stumble across this: Alice in Wonderland TOP SECRET PATRIOT UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence UNSC Department of Strategic Intelligence Running Title: Alice in Wonderland Summary Report, 17 MAR 2954 A Memorandum from the UNSC Naval Intelligence Office of Special Investigation to the Arcturus Committee and the Vector Thirteen DO NOT DISTRIBUTE DO NOT DISTRIBUTE DO NOT DISTRIBUTE DO NOT DISTRIBUTE DO NOT DISTRIBUTE DO NOT DISTRIBUTE COUNT YOUR PAGES COUNT YOUR PAGES COUNT YOUR PAGES COUNT YOUR PAGES You are on Page 1 of 1. Count your pages. Report any missing pages immediately to NIOSI. THIS IS THE DAILY TACTICAL MEMORANDUM FROM THE UNSC NAVAL INTELLIGENCE OFFICE OF SPECIAL INVESTIGATION TO ALL MEMBERS OF THE UNSC DEFENSE FORCE WITH DELTA X-RAY FIVE STATUS, INCLUDING BUT NO LIMITED TO MEMBERS OF THE ARCTURUS COMMITTEE AND VECTOR THIRTEEN. YOU ARE ON THE DISTRIBUTION LIST FOR THIS DOCUMENT BECAUSE OF YOUR DELTA X-RAY FIVE STATUS. It is the conclusion of the UNSC Naval Intelligence Office of Special Investigation that as of March 17, 2954 that Alice in Wonderland is reaching the end of its useful operational capacity. Galactic peace is on the verge of disintegration. Strategic long-range predictions by Blue Chip indicate with a 0.999993 probability, within ONE MONTH OF RECEIVING THIS REPORT, ONE OR MORE EVENTS OF APOCALYPTIC SCALE WILL OCCUR with non-UNSC and non-Covenant origin. Integrity calculations of Blue Chip indicate that its reality-recursive hardware and wetware has not been compromised. High-order probability calculations support Blue Chip's initial calculations. Apocalypse is inevitable. It is without doubt that within one month, the RAGNAROK CIRCUMSTANCE will be triggered. Immediate action must be taken to find alternative solutions. Subproject 77 and MH ULTRA still remain as last-resort options. We must endeavor with all due speed to find alternative solutions, with the weight of mankind resting on us. Pandora's Box, as previously agreed, has been relocated to Midgard under the safekeeping of censored. A substantial UNSC Special Operations Command battle group, code-named TASK FORCE 51, has been stationed on Midgard. The security of Pandora's Box rests upon censored and Task Force 51. We have no other choice; there is no other UNSC military force that can be trusted more than Task Force 51 to ensure the temporary safety of Pandora's Box. We report that the [[UNSC Ether A Go Go|UNSC Ether A Go Go]] has been detached from UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence reconnaissance duties, and that the Ether A Go Go is standing by above Midgard to take the citizen with DELTA X-RAY NINE status to Atlantis (read: Security Zone 77). With mankind prepared to collapse, we have no other choice to ensure that the bearer of Pandora's Box has immediate access to Atlantis. While Subproject 77 and MH ULTRA are last-resort options, Alice in Wonderland is prepared to take any option that will avert mankind's inevitable fate, no matter the cost. Counterintelligence sweeps have located one system security breach: this is believed to be an offensive information operations (IO) intrusion by Agent 2042, a former PROGWARDIV/HPA operator. With the instigator(s) of the RAGNAROK CIRCUMSTANCE currently unknown, we will not take any chances. A sizable UNSCSOCOM task force with over one thousand direct-action operators has been sent to apprehend or neutralize 2042. We have been entrusted with mankind's last defense. It is a task that we will not fail until the very end. If we have one hope, it is this. Our ability to trigger mutual assured destruction is still active. We still have Directive 0-9 and Pandora's Box. If we die, we can at least ensure that our mysterious foe dies with us as well. Signed, UNSC Naval Intelligence Office of Special Investigation Alice in Wonderland, UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence As you can see, I'm in trouble. I have to drop off the radar if I have any hope of staying alive. I may not have my MJOLNIR anymore, but I do have my own little mercenary gear and my training to help me, so if they do find me I'll at least take plenty of 'em with me. The situation looks worse than ever. This Box is definitely the key to something very bad, and it's in the possession of someone with you on Midgard. I know plenty of people who owe me favors, and they might be able to slip me past the UNSC's commandos. I haven't made much of my life up to this point, but I won't stand by while a select few give themselves the power this message seems to be talking about. I'm coming to Midgard to find the Box and figure out what it is. I know that what I'm asking for is treason, but please don't tell them what I've just told you. I've erased your codes and cut off all ties to you, so there's nothing I can blackmail you with. I'm simply asking you to do me a favor. The decision is yours, 2994. If you come across me while I try to do what I believe must be done, I expect you'll do your duty. But just this once don't be an automaton, a pawn of others. Goodbye, Apollo. 67 FOB Hotel California, FORCE RECON Barracks (FRBAR) Midgard, 11 Draconic System The Special Forces operators were quiet for the entire trip back to Hotel California, silently contemplating what had happened, who the figure was, and why it had happened. What ever that thing was, it definitely wasn’t human, wasn’t ONI, and didn’t even appear to be friendly. Cosette’s rifle was gripped firmly in her hands, her eyes fixated on the place that the wounded PMC had been, the image of him falling to his death ever vivid in her mind. As the King Pelican touched down on the airfield at the FOB, the sequence replayed in her head as the bay doors opened to allow them to disembark. Her own fireteam as well as the Rangers simply followed her as she was first to get up and exit the dropship, the soldiers almost seeming to be in a confused stupor. Making her way towards the FORCE RECON barracks, Cosette didn’t return the various greetings she received from friends within Task Force 51, instead just focusing on the entrance to the building. That creature had murdered the private soldier, simply threw him out of the bay and then disappeared, it was still out there. Passing through the doors once again, it was empty, her azure eyes scanning the room to confirm. The others simply took hold of their weapons, a Ranger and Merrill pushing one of the heavy bunks in front of the door. What happened had managed to shake 9 hardened SFO’s to their cores, enough that now they were barricading themselves in their barracks, all the meanwhile not exchanging one word. Cosette simply checked her sidearm, an M7 with an attached suppressor and tactical flashlight. [[Jennings & Rall|'Jennings & Rall']] [[User talk:Delta Team Curt|'SLIPCOM']] 68 FOB Hotel California, Barracks Midgard, 11 Draconic System As Daniel Jackson entered the Barracks of FOB Hotel Californial, Jackson had felt little guilt on the Convoy Ambush, despite his Shock to Learn that they where Friendlies. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time thought Jackson. Then, Jackson took an Deep and Long Sleep on his Bed. As he slept, Jackson had experienced an Dream like no other before. A Beautiful Women had appeared and approached Daniel, who was floating in the dark. The women approached Daniel and leaned towards his Ear and said the following: Reject your Sins and Beleifs or Suffer Then, the women planted a kiss on Daniel's Lips and walked away. Next thing, Daniel knew, he was bleeding from his Eyes and screaming from the Pain. Daniel woke up in a cold sweat and trying to get his Thoughts together on his Dream. But, Daniel gave up and put on his Favorite Song, The Night by Disturbed, and went back to Sleep. Prepare to Drop 69 The Rangers had disembarked from their vehicles, weapons in hand, armor and equipment soaked in sweat, and a tiresome look in their eye. They had just pulled off a successful mission, successful indeed. However, if those guys were really Davenport mercenaries, they had just slaughtered a convoy of innocents, men who used to be their fellow special forces brethren. Tyrone walked into the Task Force Ranger barracks, and proceeded to his slightly elevated section in the area that was cordoned off by Ranger 38/6 C with sandbags. It was their turf, and no one stepped in it, not even Ranger 38/6 B, which had a combat record that rivaled theirs. Jackson thought long and hard about that operation, that efficiency with which his men simply tore apart an entire column of vehicles, even using flame throwers to kill those who hadn't died in the hail of lead. After reviewing the tactical data, the way that SPARTAN sounded on the radio... he had a damn good reason for calling off the attack. SPARTANs never backed down from a fight unless there was a helluva reason. There was something on that convoy that ONI didn't want, he thought, thinking back at the tone of Rowntree. What could it be? he thought, but placed those thoughts away, believing that it was not his place, as a soldier, as a low-ranking officer, not to question the decisions of the higher-ups. ---- Jamal saw it. Them. Their deep, blue, piercing eyes. No mouths. No features. Just those... eyes.' He brought up his BR55 to fire, and pulled the trigger. Nothing. He pulled it again. Nothing. He looked, and not a single round was fired. He looked back at the beings, those penetrating eyes forcing their way into his soul. He felt himself being picked up, and thrown against a wall. He felt the impact. He felt the horror. No SPARTAN had ever felt terror before. They were invincible. They couldn't die. But, those rumors and myths were pushed aside, as the being lifted him up without even touching him, and choked him. "You have failed for the last time." He felt himself dying, the air leaving his lungs, his trachea being crushed, his brain running wild at the prospect of finally being defeated. He awoke from his dream, gasping in fright, sweat running down his forehead and onto his cheeks, his fists clenched, tightly gripping the hospital sheet. You know, Jamal, they have a saying for what you have. Oh really, what? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Oh, I didn't know, thanks for telling me. He sat up in his bed, his wounds quickly healing due to his advanced augmentation. After rubbing his eyes, he stared out the window, at the stars, and then, crawled back into bed. After closing his eyes, he saw them, those two bearers of bad news, those "sith lords", the "archangels" the "demons", and they had returned. This time, they fired their weapons. -- SPARTAN-002[The Hero] [The Team] [A New Chronicle] 01:16, 21 January 2009 (UTC) 70 UNSCSOCOM Task Force 51 (TF51) FOB Hotel California Office of the Commander, Joint Task Force (OFFCMDRJTF) A polite rap on the hardwood door, and Admiral Son's gaze canted upwards from his desk. It was one of the aide de camps. "Admiral, the assault squadron just got roosted safely. You asked to be notified." He nodded curtly. "Recall my tactical staff for a meeting in five minutes in my office; no preparation will be necessary. The subject should be enlisted as regarding the Arcturus incident and our further steps to responsibly react to the incident." "Yes sir. And who should be invited?" "All staff officers, O-4 and up; all junior officers and enlisted are also welcomed to participate, although not mandatory." With a stiff salute, the aide parted from her commander's office. And expectantly, it was then that Kawika felt something laden and ponderous in his pocket. He ignored it. The time would be coming shortly enough anyways. * * * Combat Information Center (CIC) "Commodore?" "Yes?" "We have a situation", said a junior officer tartly. Rowntree stared opaquely at the flatscreen monitor for a moment, the peculiar sight taking several moments to finally strike home, for how unfamiliar the visage was to her eyes. Finally, she managed, "What the hell?" Both officers were at a momentary loss of words. It after several long moments of contemplation that Rowntree said adroitly, "Get me one of ground commanders; see if we can get one of them pulled from the admiral's meeting." Several minutes later, an acerbic voice beckoned forth from the base intercom. "All forces to battle stations, repeat, all forces to battle stations. Raid Hotel California. This is not a drill." 71 Jackson grabbed an MA8 Carbine and slammed a magazine in. The rest of his chalks grabbed their weapons, and they all proceeded to their pre-planned stations. The five Ranger companies were to hold a section of the compound that lay right next to the motor pool, as well as their crucial armories and fuel dumps. "Alright, whoever's attacking us obviously has to have something up their sleeves, or they wouldn't be doing this. Stay at the top of your games, gentlemen!" Who the fuck is dumb enough to attack a heavily entrenched force of special operators? -- SPARTAN-002[The Hero] [The Team] [A New Chronicle] 17:03, 21 January 2009 (UTC) 72 Simon was trying to get some rest when the alarms began. With a reaction time honed by years of reacting quickly to danger, he was off the bed in an instant, his hand groping for the custom SMG he kept hidden under it. The weapon had been fitted with a silencer and reflex sight, the perfect tools for someone who wanted to remain unnoticed and adaptable. He locked his room's door and then proceeded to begin assembling his SPI armor over his body. After several minutes of fumbling and mistakes, he slid the helmet over his head and opened a link to wherever Redmond was. "Where are you?" he demanded as he checked to see that his weapon was loaded. "On my way to your room now, sir." "Good. Meet with me outside the door and we'll get to our post." After a moment's hesitation, he slid another knife out of his rucksack and strapped it around the SMG's casing. 73 Joshua was catching some shut eye when the alarms went off. He was up like a flash, reached for his custom BR 55 DMR and aimed at the door. Nothing happened. He quickly got suited up in his SPI Armour. He grabbed his favourite K-Bar Bayonet and slid it on to his Battle Rifle. He quickly slid the last piece of his kit on. He then opened a com with Amy and Maria... Team Wolf. "Amy, Maria? You ready? What's going on?" "On our way to our posts." Amy responded. "Rodger That. Just gotta waken our Friend. See you in 15." "Got it sir." And with that Josh moved off to get the HPA Agent. ---- "Rangers to the Choppers! Circle the area!" Joshua Stevenson ordered. The Sniper Teams of 8th Irish ran towards the Helicopters, got strapped in and took off knowing that if this place falls all of Midgard falls. ''Lieutenant'' ''Mc''''Callan'' 18:36, 21 January 2009 (UTC) 74 Directive 5-62 RADM GARNET ROWNTREE (UNSC OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE) SENDS TO TASK FORCE 51 DO YOU READ TO TASK FORCE 51 DO YOU READ PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE THAT RADM ROWNTREE SENDS This is a priority directive issued by Commodore Garnet Rowntree, a flag grade officer of the UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence, issued to UNSC Special Operations Command special task group Task Force 51 (TF51) under BRAVO NOVEMBER SEVEN, which grants discretionary clearance for the indiscriminatory issue of priority directives by my command to Task Force 51 and all attached subordinate commands in regards to the UNSC crisis on Midgard. This is a priority directive: That the following small-molecule biologically-active pharmacological chemical compounds: *(+)-WIN-55212: CB1 and CB2 cannabinoid receptor activator, described by Compton et al. (2002) to have an in vitro biological activity at a Ki of 62.3 ± 31 nM for human CB1 and a Ki of 3.30 ± 0.40 nM for human CB2 against 0.5 nM 3HCP 55940 *2C-E: substituted phenethylamine and presumptive dopamine active transporter (DAT) inhibitor *A-769662: 5' adenosine monophosphate-activated protein kinase (AMPK) activator, described by Cool et al. (2006) to have an in vivo biological activity at a dosage of 30 mg/kg and an in vitro biological activity at an IC50 of 3.2 μM *GW1516: peroxisome proliferator-activated receptor (PPARδ) activator, described by Sznaidmann et al. (2003) to have an in vitro transactivation activity at a concentration of 1.0 nM for human PPARδ *JZL184: monoacylglycerol lipase (MAGL) inhibitor that increases 2-arachidonoylglycerol (2-AG) transmission, described by Long et al. (2009) to have nearly-complete inhibitory activity at 1.0 nM *O-1783: dopamine active transporter (DAT) inhibitor, described by Meltzer et al. (2003) to have an IC50 of 17 nM competitively inhibits 3HWIN 35,428 binding to the transporter in the rhesus monkey (Macaca mulatta) *Selegiline: monoamine oxide-B (MAOB) inhibitor, described by Engberg et al. (1991) to inhibit MAOB and increase dopa accumulation following 3-hydroxybenzyihydrazine administration at an in vivo concentration of 30mg/kg through intraperitoneal (I.P.) administration AND that the following biologically-active biological factors: *BMP7: 28.8 kDa homodimeric glycoprotein, which correspond to amino acid residues 316 to 431 of the full-length BMP7 precursor, solubilized in hydroxyapatite *''Myf5''-''PRDM16shRNA'': promoter-driven gene system ligated into non-replicative, transiently-expressed, non-integrating adenoviral expression vector for specific promoter-driven expression *''Snai''-''MyoD'': promoter-driven gene system built ligated non-replicative, transiently-expressed, non-integrating adenoviral expression vector for specific promoter-driven expression THESE SMALL-MOLECULE CHEMICAL COMPOUNDS AND ADENOVIRAL VECTORS WILL BE ADMINISTRATED BY MEANS OF ONE (1) BLUE-COLORED SOLID MEDICINAL TABLET INCLUDED IN THE CANTEEN OF EACH TASK FORCE 51 (TF51) OPERATOR. EACH OPERATOR IS TO INGEST ONE (1) TABLET WITH THE DISCLOSED CHEMICAL AND BIOLOGICAL FACTORS WITH AQUEOUS SOLUTION (e.g. WATER) PRIOR TO COMBAT OR NON-COMBAT OPERATIONS. SIGNED, GARNET ROWNTREE, COMMODORE, UNSC OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE, UNDER DIRECTIVE BRAVO NOVEMBER SEVEN. RelentlessRecusant 75 UNSCSOCOM Task Force 51 (TF51) FOB Hotel California As the Alarm Sirens of FOB Hotel California screamed, Daniel Jackson, Fully Awake, scrambled into his Marine Combat Armor and grabbed his Battle Rifle in the Barracks. Jackson, now knowing FOB Hotel California is under Attack, continues on who is responsible for the Attack on the UNSC Base on Midgard. Who in the Hell is attacking us? thought Jackson. Then, Jackson raised his Com Link to make contact with his FORCE RECON Team and get an Update on the Situation in the Base. As Jackson stepped outside of the Barracks, a Bright Light shined threw the Door and Disappeared as Jackson closed the Door. ShockTrooper 76 As ordered, Redmond met Simon at the door of the Lieutenant's room. "I came from the canteen," he panted. "The latest directive says we gotta take one of these." So saying, he handed Simon a small blue medicine tablet. Simon frowned as he took the thing. Another damn eye booster or cold vaccine, he thought with a mental eye roll. There always seemed to be a new kind of drug the UNSC wanted its soldiers to be on. Snapping his water bottle open, he popped the tablet into his mouth and gulped it down. Returning the bottle to his rucksack, he nodded to Redmond. "Let's move out the usual way then." The two of them crouch-walked down the hall, wary of any stray bullets that might begin to fly at any moment. 77 UNSCSOCOM Task Force 51 (TF51) Midgard, 11 Draconis System UNSC Army Special Operations Aviation Detachment (RAVEN) The acerbic retort of the corybantic cry over Hotel California’s loudspeakers were unmistakable; they were galvanized into action by primal instinct. His veins were scalded by liquid fire, the tissues of his body searing by the cry’s oscillating tone. He knew that sound well. The aviation battalion’s S3’s voice, forged from shattered steel and ice, rang through the loudspeakers over the din a moment later, corroborating it. “Scramble. All ready teams, scramble. Raid Hotel California. This is not a drill.” At 1131 hours zulu for March 17, 2594, the ready team rotation was 3/2 Company of the 5th—Sheridan Hawthorne’s company; Strikefast. It took only the fraction of a heartbeat for the speaker’s intonation to strike home, to illuminate his prefrontal cortex, to send the vigor coursing throughout his body. In a moment, seven hours of droll boredom spent in Hotel California’s ready room were redacted. He bolted from his chair, replete in the full seven-piece pressure suit, with the visored pressure helmet already fit, the neck seal loosed. The company tore from the ready room towards the exterior of the hangar, a ragged wave of humanity breaking forth, headed for one objective— The eight AV-99 Foray assault gunship of the 3/2 Strikefast. Hawthorne was steps behind the company commander—Delano. When the company broke into the sunlight, 11 Draconis’s light struck the Forays, as if a ray of heaven striking down and breaking upon Earth, bringing the entire scene into celestial effulgence, illuminating the lethal length and canted cannons of every one of the gunships. The sudden exertion and inertia bucked heavily against his stiffened frame, his immobilized joints, but he force-fed air and vitality into his muscles, springing into the gunship’s cockpit as the flight chiefs were seconds behind on their robotic dollies, the mechanized units teeming with the glistening metallic poison of warheads. He ran through the pre-flight checklist; it was brief. He was shortly joined by the weapons specialist—Keeler—and the electronic warfare (EW) operator—Thomson. Even as his fingers, pre-programmed, autonomously orchestrated the complex array of diodes and levers that was the Foray’s abbreviated pre-flight, he did not notice it, for it was underneath his contempt. For his veins thundered with a colossal pulse, a beckoning beat. Within his veins raged the valkyries towards dawn, the charge of the light brigade. For someone was attacking Hotel California. Someone was striking the UNSC—someone was assaulting humanity’s tender heart. Fuckers. No one could operate an AV-99 like the 3/2 Strikefast; whoever had the gall to launch such an audacious feint would soon be crushed by heavy side of UNSCSOCOM’s hammer. Three quick clicks on the QUICK HAVEN short-range com, and the local battlenet was established. “Radios routed”, reported the battalion S2. “Battalion radio is go.” Thomson, from the back seat, gave two firm thumbs up. “Internal VHF is go, sir.” “3-2, this is CMDRATKHB, authenticating secure.” Any calls to “3-2” were addressed to the company commander, Delano, not any of subordinate fliers. “Eagle Six, this is 3-2, send.” “Operational deployment is Sparrow, 3-2. Bring your company to Rally One outside of the northwest entrance, and prepare to provide close air support for friendlies, over.” A high-pitched syncopated whine, and the Foray’s jet-powered thrusters ignited, coming alive, shattering the air. The company commander momentarily paused before returning the battalion commander. “Eagle Six, what’s the tactical situation looking like?” “3-2, Raid Hotel California. Deploy your company as per OP-ORD Sparrow and provide close air support for friendly SF forces on the ground. I have no further information for you at this time, over.” Hawthorne tossed a glance back at Thomson, who made a slitting motion across his throat. The situation certainly didn’t sound on the fucking upside. “Copy that, Eagle Six. Strikefast all the way.” “Eagle Six out.” The local company radio flared on. “Strikefast, this is 3-2. Alpha strike; weighted light and heavy. Attack teams BLUE and WHITE are loaded light, and attack team RED is our heavy hitter, loaded up with AT/AM. S3 sends that soon, we’ll be receiving coordinates from an SF fire observer on the ground.” Pause. “Prepare for takeoff and orbit the kill box. Godspeed, Strikefast.” Sheridan swallowed the pill, felt it run down his tract, and once again, 3-2 Strikefast rode to war. UNSC Army Ranger Corps, 8th Irish Ranger Regiment, 3rd Airborne Battalion (Air Assault) At the klaxon’s feral wail, 3rd Platoon Hunters of the 8th Irish Ranger Regiment, 3rd Battalion (Air Assault), Company “C” were aroused. The Ranger operators of the 8th Ranger were on the ready rotation; the rotation that ensured that a weighted SF-capable strike force was capable of deploying to any emerging urgent operation with less than twenty minutes’ notice. No one expected that a Ranger mission on Midgard would ever carry them home. Hotel California was under siege. One Ranger had overheard a transmission and had been telling it to the platoon, and when the loudspeakers lit up, they knew it wasn’t a drill. Lieutenant Justin Mikklesen was already up and screaming through the halls, thunder’s rolls flooding through every room. As the Ranger combat team ready commander, it was him, not the other company or platoon COs, who received the objectives first from the battalion command. “Hunters! Lock and load! This is our stop to fuck shit up! Let’s roll!” The first to greet him was his platoon sergeant; Staff Sergeant Murchie. The lieutenant handed her urgent orders; “Find Stevenson. OP-ORD Canine; the Battalion wants Juliet’s snipers airborne. Air assault.” Murchie nodded quickly, dispersed. The others of the 3rd Platoon “Hunters” came fast enough, well within the reaction clock. Mikklesen surveilled them with a touch of pride; forty Rangers—his Rangers, well-armed, well-trained. Midgard had taken the fight out of most of the regiment yet, but not his unit. The lieutenant waved them urgently towards the IFVs that would carry them to battle, and mouthed the pill, felt the energy course through him. “Rock and roll!” UNSC Special Warfare Group “Spartan”, Myrmidon Detachment Four (“Delta Squadron”) In the still silence of her room, Eve, Myrmidon-005, hazarded that battle’s wake was upon them, that the skies shone with war’s colors. She did not understand how she had fathomed upon that, but she did know one thing. That it was true. With an absolutely still certainty, it was true. It was this precocious precognition that had earned her rank of Chief Petty Officer (E-7) and position of the senior enlisted of the fourth Myrmidon detachment, Delta Squadron. Eve remembered Admiral Kawika Son’s “speech”. Personalized augmentations. Small-molecule chemical compounds to control human embryogenesis and postnatal physiology. Chemical probes to augment local biological signaling and growth and repair. Personalized augmentations for every Myrmidon. Two decades spent to hand-tailor small-molecule augmentations for each and every one of the one hundred Myrmidon children. If so, then the Myrmidon staff had a 99% success rate. For they had made one mistake in their “personalized augmentations”. Her. Eve. Myrmidon-005. She didn’t know how it had happened. The chemical genetics, pharmacokinetics, and complimentary chemical biology was far beyond her understanding, or for that matter, beyond the understanding of most of the biologists and chemical biologists of both the UNSC and the Covenant. But she had always been different. An irreversible flaw, from conception. She had been born damaged. Eve had been born as flawed. The playing field for her had never been even. Others couldn’t even imagine being “disabled”. That when you didn’t even fight, you lost. When you born, you already lost. Others thought she was winning; she held a senior position with the Myrmidon company command structure. They were fatalistically lost in their own whimsical thoughts. Eve was a horror, a byproduct of reckless chemical biology and chemical genetics that had finally stumbled. Mentally, she had always been defective. She was always less intelligent. Slower to catch on. She was the least creative. Least adept in planning operations, in responding when operations hit fatal snags. But yet, there she was, senior enlisted to Delta Squadron, UNSC Special Warfare Group SPARTAN. Why? She had the unnatural gift of what some called prescience. It had come up early. When the child soldier Myrmidons were being forced through their tests, their combat exercises had all been harrowing. Horrifying. One of their chief instructors, Simon-G294, had introduced so many unexpected snags into their operations that simple reconnaissance patrols or search-and-rescue (SAR) training modules had become harrowing battles of survival against monstrous helicopter gunships and automated hunter-killer drones. Practice missions to disarm a single squad of Marines were transformed into week-long campaigns, running raging battles against hundreds of entrenched heavy weapons troopers with fire and air support, with mortar raining like snowfall and snipers taking out the children. The Myrmidons, as a company, were always close to physical, psychological, and mental collapse. Except Team Valkyrie, Eve’s team. She always knew when the snags occurred. She knew what they would be, who had planted them. Team Valkyrie never encountered a single snagged mission. She always knew what they were beforehand, and the team simply re-ordered its objectives to circumnavigate them before they ever came up. Eve knew where the hidden stun minefields were, where the ODST sniper-spotter teams were, and Team Valkyrie looped by them to reach their objective. No one ever knew how she knew. They suspected she had a source inside the command staff. Ironically enough, the mentally-retarded giant was the best tactician. Yes, a second effect. Ironically, despite her hindered intelligence and creativity, she had, by some odd telling of Fate’s hand, been given an extraordinary physical body; a second effect, she suspected, of the tragic embryonic accident that had made her who she was. She was superlatively strong, with a peerless endurance and gross physical strength to outmatch any other of the child soldiers, and also strikingly beautiful; another cruel turn of fate. But to everyone else, she was the weird paranoid-schizophrenic psychic giantess that knew where all the traps were. None of the other Myrmidon troopers accepted her. Even her own team, Valkyrie Team, wasn’t close to her. She lived in a world of darkness; she was drowning in the night. Far before the alarms rang, she knew of the attack. Even before Florian-021, Delta Squadron’s commander and Valkyrie Team’s leader, roused them to battle, she knew of the fighting, what laid beyond Hotel California’s walls. Even before Bjorn-047 and Daphne-097, the other two Valkyries, brought the pills, she knew what they were even without consulting the pharmacological index. She knew what they would do. She took them anyways. Why did she care? She was living her death. Bringing her another footstep towards the darkness was nothing compared to how she burnt everyday. And then, the Myrmidons of Team Valkyrie too strode towards Hotel California’s walls and to the battle that raged outside. UNSC Naval Special Warfare Group Six (NAVSPECWAR Six) “Shit!” Shattering glass and fulminating fire, and another Molotov cocktail broke out, covering the face of the sniper tower in flames as Chief Petty Officer Laine Morrison and her spotter convulsively threw themselves to the floor, the glass around them shattering from the intense explosion, raining them in sparkling starfall of krystallnacht. The voice in the her helmet-mounted headset warbled insistently; “''Chief, the Admiral wants a report stat about the situation out there. How’s it looking?” As a tongue of fire lapped at her body armor, she screamed furiously, “We’re under heavy attack! Can you reinforce?” Another Molotov cocktail burst nearby, and her spotter barked, “Crazy mother fuck!” “''Recon, I didn’t get that last part. Come again? What is the disposition of the enemy forces? We need to redirect supporting fires on their position.” She stood abruptly, and gazed on the depraved, hellish world below her. Thousands of civilians thronged against Hotel California’s gates. A wave of humanity broke upon the base’s shores, the tsunami raging higher and higher. A teeming mass of humanity. They screamed. They shouted. They cried, and the world died. She heard their chants. “''Peace on Mid-gard! Peace on Mid-gard! Peace, peace! Peace, peace!” In their hands they had the mangled, bloody body of a disarmed Ranger, and they were passing the corpse back and forth and exclaiming in excitement at the dead UNSC soldier. At the sight, her hands clenched and tensed, the fire ran through her, and her body resonated in fury. All around, civilians tore down fences, threw bombs at sentry posts, stabbed the corpses of dead UNSC troopers. She rose the microphone to her raspy lips. “Bring the cavalry, Command. Blow them to hell.” RelentlessRecusant 78 War was something that the Special Forces operators of FORCE RECON lived for, a constant that kept their worlds in order. As ridiculous as it sounded, they felt secure on the battlefield, like a child felt safe in the confines of their home or a school. Cosette pulled herself together, the soldiers who had tried to block out the world after seeing a survivor thrown from a King Pelican and the creature responsible for it. Her squad formed up, the eight soldiers ready for action. As they reached the outer perimeter, they found it in chaos, enemy combatants and angry civilians infiltrating their defenses. Cosette gave the order to fire on armed civilians, the area being rocked by another large bomb being detonated. Placing her finger over the trigger, the Corporal and her squad began to gun down anything hostile to the UN without a second thought, the sounds of automatic fire ringing out. [[Jennings & Rall|'Jennings & Rall']] [[User talk:Delta Team Curt|'SLIPCOM]] 79 Joshua sat on the edge of the Heron circling Hotel California. The mob was mad. Killing any UNSC personel without a weapon and mutilating there body as if it was some sort of Beast. The sounds of the BR 55 DMR were going off all around him. The chopper was too damn small for 6 Snipers armed to the teeth with ammo. "Josh! Look!" Flight Commander Wes Samsung said, the Heron's pilot. Pointing to a group off Mobster's which seemed to be lagging behind. "Vern. See what they're doing." Vernon Martin looked down the sights of his SRS99C-S2 AMB and looked at the group of slow coaches. "Uhh... Sir." Vernon said. "What is it?" "It's ummm a group of guys with Jackhammars." "Oh christ..." Vernon and Josh fired there weapons down at the group. They managed to kill 4 of the 7 Rocketmen. The surviving men aimed up and fired at once. "FOXTROT! INCOMING!" Joshua screamed. 3 rockets connected with the tail rotor of the Heron and sent it into a spin. Vern slid and was about to fall out when Joshua and Richard McKay grabbed him and pulled him up. "Mayday! Mayday! This is Juliet 3-6-4. We are going down repeat we are going down!" Wes said into the com. "Hang on guys!" The Heron was sent into a spiral, constantly losing Altitude. "Get Ready!" Wes said finally before the Herson hit the ground about 6 clicks from Hotel California. ---- SPARTAN-G024 stabbed a hostile with his bayonet, the blood poured out of him. He quickly turned round and fired twice into another Hostile right behind him. He was stuck in the corridor of the Dormintory's. He hadn't been able to get out before they came pouring in. Agent 2024 stood at the top of the dormintory laying down some serious covering fire with his Sniper. Josh was stuck dead in the middle covering the back and the Lift which frequently came up loaded with troops. 6 More Rebels came charging up, he fired in single shot mode killing them before they got close. He check his Ammo counter. 15 Rounds left. He checked himself for more Mags. Two Left. Foxtrot. Not enough he thought. The lift opened and out came 7 more rebels. He fired into their centre mass. 6 Rebels down 3 bullets left. Suddenly rocket zoomed over his head. He turned and noticed that there was 5 more rebels. His BR 55 DM-R's clip ran dry, he swapped instinctively to his M6G and continued firing. Bullets zinged past him hitting the wall behind him. "2024! We gotta move! We're about to get over run!" He Shouted to him. "I'm nearly outta ammo!" "Got it." the HPA Replied cooly God I hate his guts. He enjoys this too much. Josh thought. But damn he's good. Joshua reloaded his rifle and continued to fire into the minst of the crowd, but instead of holding his ground he began to fall back to 2024 position. "Ready?" "Yep, let's go," Josh said while shooting the last of his BR 55 DM-R rounds before following 2024 to the stairs to outside. ''Lieutenant'' ''Mc''''Callan'' 20:08, 23 January 2009 (UTC) 79: Back in the Saddle Again "What, Sir?" "Jackson, we need you to take one of the remaining AV-99 Forays! The pilot was injured running to his craft!" "Sir, you know, I'm a Ranger now, right?" "Jackson, that's an order. I've seen your record. You're one of the hottest Foray pilots in the galaxy." Jackson rolled his eyes, promoted his 2nd Chalk leader to commander, then took off in a dead sprint for the hangar. There, he found a fully gassed and armed Foray. "You're the driver?" "Hell yeah, what do you need me to do?" "Fly the bitch!" Jackson climbed in, put on a helmet, moved the craft to the airstrip, and took off. One of the helos were down, and they needed as much cover as they could get. -- SPARTAN-002[The Hero] [The Team] [A New Chronicle] 22:02, 23 January 2009 (UTC) 80 UNSCSOCOM Task Force 51 (TF51) FOB Hotel California As the Mob drew closer, Daniel Jackson, UNSC Marine FORCE RECON Operator, and his FORCE RECON Team opened fire on the Mob and Defended Hotel California, showing No Mercy and No Remorse. "Open Fire on those Motherfuckers!" yelled Jackson as he fired his Battle Rifle. "Sgt. Jackson, do you read?" said an Marine Officer. "Loud and Clear" said Jackson. "Jackson, I need you to head over to Kng Pelican Dropship Pads, UNSC Marine FORCE RECON Team will arrive to reinforce Hotel California, However, they need an safe place to land. So, Daniel Jackson, pull your FORCE RECON Team back to the Pads and hold your position, let the 8th Irish Rangers take over your position" said the UNSC Officer. "Alright, MARINES fall back to the King Pelican Pads" said Jackson. As the FORCE RECON Operators retreated, Jackson felt an sigh of Relief. ---- As the UNSC King Pelican Dropship approached FOB Hotel California, Sgt. Rick Johnson, UNSC Marine FORCE RECON Operator, and his UNSC Marine FORCE RECON Team preped up for the Mission. Since an Civilian Mob attacked Hotel California, UNSC reinforcements were sent to put down the Mob. Johnson was loading an Magazine into his Battle Rifle and put on his ODST Helmet. "ETA, 10 Minutes" said the Pilot. "Alright Marines, Get ready!" said Rick Johnson as he stood up and picked up his Battle Rifle. Outside the Window, Johnson could see an fire nearby Here we go thought Rick Johnson. ShockTrooper 81 With 2042's plight momentarily forgotten in the adrenaline rush that came with combat, Apollo readied his Battle Rifle as he raced out of the building and into the motor pool. He wasn't entirely sure where to go, so he had decided to hitch a ride and get as close to the main battle as possible. Just like old times: a single well-trained operative taking down hordes of foolish goons. That's what made you retire, he reminded himself. You got bored. He slowed, momentarily depressed. Was life repeating itself for him? Would he be once more doomed to fighting weak and uninspired foes for the rest of his career? The incessant honking of a Warthog's horn snapped him back into reality. A few yards away, Artemis had gotten into the driver seat of one of the venerable cars and was motioning for him to get in. "You just going to stand there all day?" she demanded. "Get moving!" Apollo sprinted to the 'hog and clambered onto the chaingun. "What's the plan?" he asked. If there was one person who knew how to make routine jobs interesting, it was Artemis. "We got a chopper down about six clicks away. We need to reinforce them until command can spare a few dropships to pick 'em up. Have you taken that new pill yet?" Apollo had downed one just before donning his helmet. "Yeah. So are we gonna move or just stand here all day?" 82 UNSC Caledon Midgard Geosynchronous orbit The armor-clad grey hull of the Caledon gently rolled through the silent expanse of space, her angular hull in warlike clash to the gentle curves of Midgard's verdant sphere. Yet in an act of the irony only Man can enact, it was the Frigate's warlike frame that was the bearer of peace, for Midgard was at war. Bright flashes erupted from the tactical screens as the human aegis of rage swept over FOB Hotel California, hurling fiery improvised bombs; waging war to secure peace. "Sir, Hotel California is reporting massive enemy activity directed at their compound." Lt. Commander Steven Myer had not come to Midgard for peace, yet it was he who had planned to be the aggressor, but now a single-minded mob had snatched the initiative from one of the Galaxy's most elite military forces. A band of rioters had grabbed a single weight from the scales of Fate, and in a single moment upset what years of bloodshed had bought. "What's the status on the LZ's?" "Red, sir. One dropship has already gone down outside the perimeter." "Then put the Helljumpers to prepare to drop." ---- The klaxon erupted, sending a wailing cacophony of sound throughout the ready room. Ears ringing, Daniel Nikos leapt from his unfinished meal, grabbed his MA5K carbine, and dashed out the door, joining a throng of grey-clad men streming for the troop bays. There row of HEVs stood, edifices to the hazardous art of the UNSC Marine Orbital Incursion Group Trooper, the ODSTs, their armored hulls state-of-the-art parachute and indifferent coffin combined. With an ease and a confidence only long experience and constant training can produce, Nikos strapped himself into the carapaced pod, bracing himself for the blast that would send him hurtling to earth, a prelude to the crushing blow of actually landing. ---- Outside FOB "Hotel California" Midgard The gentle rasp of metal on metal, then the plunk like sledgehammer on iron bar, the first sound of a journey that would culminate in a roar far louder. The mortar bomb hurtled upward, its progenitors already busying themselves to fire another at their sprawling, harried target, FOB Hotel California. The air rushed by, the bomb slowing at the peak of its arc, gently slowing before reversing course and accelerating for the final seconds of its life, prepared to destroy its life and the life of any unlucky enough to be caught in its explosive funeral pyre. ---- Primary Flight Line A-103 FOB "Hotel California" Midgard The mortar shell exploded a few feet behind Ackerby, showering him with the loose earth which floored the flight line, but not with the shrapnel that would have ended his life. Ackerby simply leapt up and ran. He had a job to do. He had seen that Heron spin to earth like Icarus, its wings clipped not by the Sun, but by the jealous fury of the land and her outraged instruments. Ackerby was now mere feet from the nearest Heron, its turbines still hot from its last mission, its tanks empty. Yet even if his wings were clipped, Ackerby was determined his craft would live to fight another day. The flight line would no be overrun. ---- FOB "Hotel California" Midgard Nordmann watched as the compound erupted into fire, and as tracers flew from towers and walls in response. this was a full-fledged firefight. Yet even in this chaos of Human struggle Nordmann was alone. And then he saw the gate collapse, a sea of faces swirling. ---- The King Pelican flared quickly, its pilot short on fuel after pockmarked wasteland that now confronted him where spotless concrete had once been. Yet the apprehension of the flight crew did not effect that of the single passenger. Niel Van Warden hopped from the back of the Pelican, M7 LARK in hand, finger on the trigger, alert, but eager. The crew quickly followed scuttling for covet, but Van Warden had a different plan, when he had come here as a Ranger, he had planned to fight, and if the enemy was offering one, then that was all the better Task Force Provisional Command Center FOB "Hotel California" Midgard Lee felt the concrete hulk of the bunker shudder as the mortars slammed into the 8 feet of concrete and titanium above his head, their explosive voices blotting out any hope of making himself heard. The video feeds before him were filled with Human tides, waves racing for the base, the blasts of crude explosives sending officers and enlisted men alike to hide under flimsy desks. Lee shared their concern, but not their expression. He gently brushed the polished grip of the M6B he kept on his person, flicking the safety off and laying it between his dormant legs. Then, it was simply a matter of getting a first-hand view of things. Lee wheeled out the door of the bunker and headed for the roof. Yet just as he reached it, the unseen hand of a shock wave slammed him to the ground, knocking him from his wheelchair. Lee was now trapped, exposed, unable to aid himself, reliant now upon the charity of his fellow man, hundreds of whom were now tying to kill him. ---- Peace on Midgard. Fighting for peace, it is the hypocrisy Mankind has engaged in since the dawn of time, yet survival must precede ideal, and so we fight on. May the best man win. ''FightWithHonor'' 83 Lt.Stevenson got up from the Chopper which was tipped on its side. He tasted blood in his mouth. He shook Vernon who was lying near him. Vern got up, shook of the nausea and prepared to defend the Crashsite. Josh looking right and Vernon looking left. Vern's Sniper went off first. Josh saw a group of Hostile's close in. He fired his BR 55 DM-R into the group, killing 2 off the them. "Loading!" Vern shouted. Josh kept firing, this time the Rebels shot back, bullets impacted the bottom of the chopper with a metallic ping. "Loading!" Joshua shouted, dropping the spent one and slapping a fresh one in. "Oh... Christ," Wes said. "How ya doing Wes?" Joshua said without looking down from the sights of his weapon. "Not too well... ughh... I think my leg is broken, not sure." "Well load your SMG, this could get ugly." Vern kept firing his Sniper at the targets, he just didn't have enough ammo. He fired his last 4 Rounds into the closest hostiles. "Shit, outta ammo!" he shouted "Pick up one of theirs!" Josh shouted back. Vern picked up a BR 55 DM-R from the ground and took some clips from the body of a dead Sniper. He loaded a fresh clip into the Rifle and continued to fire downrange, Richard McKay stirred and clambered up, he surveyed the carnage. "Looks like you boy's started with out me," McKay smirked Josh or Vernon didn't respond they were to busy trying to survive. Joshua continued to fire his Battle Rifle into the rebels charging at him. Bullets zinging past him and bullets hitting the metal which protected him. "Mortars!" Vern shouted, and then fired at the mortor's. They overshot killing some of the men attacking Joshua. Thank God they aint accurate. he thought. McKay had joined Vern's side as the fire was heavier from that way. Bullet's zinged from behind Josh. He saw them fly past. He quickly turned round and saw Vern falling. "FUCK!" he shouted. "Command this is Staff Sergeant Richard McKay, Please respond. Our Crashsite is under attack! We are 3 men down! One of the able body defenders is hit bad! We need assistence NOW! Over." McKay shouted down the mic. "They better come soon! Or we're gonna die!" Joshua said, finishing his third last Clip. ''Lieutenant'' ''Mc''''Callan'' 16:22, 24 January 2009 (UTC) 84 "Gunner, you see that Tank, right there?" "Roger that, take it out, sir?" "Cook it." As a BLOODHOUND missile streaked off the rails of the AV-99, Jackson noticed something - an anti-air vehicle. Turning the Foray to dodge the missiles, he groaned as the G forces became too much, then felt the craft shudder. They flew straight for a bit, then they went into an uncontrollable spin. As the craft went down, the gunner released the entire payload, destroying a few light vehicles and more than a few buildings. The AV-99 smashed into the ground, and Jackson looked up in the sky. It was azure, and the sun shone brightly. A bird flew overhead, and Jackson died. -- SPARTAN-002[The Hero] [The Team] [A New Chronicle] 17:41, 24 January 2009 (UTC) 85 As the King Pelican approached Hotel California, Rick Johnson saw an crashed Heron, the one containing the 8th Irish Rangers, with fire coming out of the Ship and Rebels opening fire on them and UNSC Commandos returning Fire. "C'mon in Command, I've got an Visual on an Crash Site with Shots fired from Both sides, request permission to Rescue the Survivors" said Johnson. "Negative, you'll be torn to ribbons if you land, we need you to get to Hotel California" said Command. "I was considering something else, Can we provide Sniper Support for the Survivors in the Air so they can escape?" "Permission Granted" said Command. So, Rick Johnson dropped his Battle Rifle and headed over to the Rack to pick up an Sniper Rifle and ordered PFC. Jessica Harris, FORCE RECON Sniper, to assist him in providing Sniper Cover for the Survivors. As Rick Johnson lifted ans Aimed his Sniper Rifle, he yelled to the Pilot, "Get me Communications with the Crashsite, NOW!". Then, Rick Johnson fired his Sniper Rifle and killed an Rebel attempting to throw an Molotov Cocktail, nailed him right through the Head. Welcome to Hell's Domain thought Johnson. ShockTrooper First Feet into Hell 86 "You mean to tell me, that while we've been running around in Mk. IV, you guys had three Mk. VI suits just laying around?" "Yes." Gabriel turned around, and in frustration, punched a wall. They had been using ages old armor with no upgrades whatsoever for the past sixty-odd years, they arrive to Midgard, still using their old equipment, while the HPA bastards received new equipment? To him, it was sheer B.S. "In the mean time... you two, after reading your operational records, have been given specialized armor. Gabriel, your suit is indeed a Mk. VI, however, some components have been modified for your sniper role. You have a heavily modified Mk. VI helmet with night-vision and thermal capacities, your shoulder pauldrons are those of the "S" variant, and your frontal chestplate is that of the "R" variant, for more stealth. Helen, you now have a CQB Helmet, with the shoulders of the EOD variant, as well as the chestplate. Get suited up, and start getting used to your shields. Your mission is to secure the sight of a downed drop ship, and retrieve all personnel alive, understand?" "Yes, ma'am." "Dismissed." Gabriel and Helen, now fully in their Mk. VI suits, turned around, and Helen began to slip on the energy shield. Bracing herself against a door frame (which was now dented), she regained her balance, and ran again, quickly getting used to her shields before taking a right into the armory. Gabriel followed, and grabbed his trademark SRS-99D S2-AM (with slightly modified bipod, scope, and barrel), as well as an M7. Helen grabbed a BR55 DMR, as well as an M41 Launcher. ---- Jamal stood up, finally realizing his strength to walk again, ripped out the IVs and took off the sensor patches that fed into the various machines in the room. He literally began to run out of the room, heading towards the armory when a Master Gunnery Sergeant stopped him. "Come with me, SPARTAN-002. We have a present for you." What, a court martial? wondered Jamal. Seemingly being able to read his thoughts, the Master Gunnery Sergeant turned around, and with a slight smile, said: "No, it's nothing bad." Entering into the room that he knew was the armor testing room, the two walked in, and the lights came on. In the center was a new suit of MJOLNIR Mk. VI, but with different shoulder, chest, and a seemingly modified helmet. "This... is your new armor. Merry Christmas, SPARTAN. The helmet is the standard variant, however, modified for your specialty. Knowing as you were the reconnaissance specialist of your class, the shoulders are those of the "Scout" permutation, while your chest is that of the CQB variant, stealthed, of course. Put it on, see how it feels." Jamal first put on the form-fitting suit, which contained gel layers for shock, etc. Then, he put on each component of the armor, which was colored steel-black, and after fully suiting up, heard the familiar whirs and beeps of computer systems booting up. After shaking his head, he saw the Heads-Up-Display materialize in front of him, then saw a bar across the top which had to have been the shield indicator. "Try running around a bit with full shields on. It's a little tricky." Jamal turned the shields up to full, and began to stride forward, then slipped, and slammed into a wall. Attempting the feat again, he moved slowly, then a little bit faster, then faster still, until he was able to run around the room without falling on his butt. "Very good, very good. Now, the Mk. VI links up to your weapon, and displays your ammo count. Very useful, eh?" "Very." Jamal then reached for his chestplate, and took out the CQB knife, and held it in his hands, shields now off. It was his knife, the same one that he had used so long before. He placed it back into its sheath, then walked out of the arms testing room, went into the armory, grabbed a BR55 DMR and an M90 CAWS, several magazines and shells, turned his shields back on, then walked out into the bright light, and in the distance, made out Gabriel and Helen. "Jamal, get there. There's a downed drop ship, in need of assistance." Jamal took off in a sprint, weapon cradled in his arms. -- SPARTAN-002[The Hero] [The Team] [A New Chronicle] 15:33, 25 January 2009 (UTC) 87 Simon and Redmond huddled behind a small concrete wall as bullets flew in a horizontal rain around them. The wall was thick enough to absorb direct hits, but the edges were beginning to deteriorate under the constant fire. "How many of them are there?" demanded Simon as a nearby explosion blew several Rangers into a bloody mist. He was too pumped with adrenaline to acknowledge their deaths. Before he could explain that the question was rhetorical, Redmond peeked over the wall. He immediately was forced to duck as a clump of bullets whizzed through the spot his head had been a millisecond earlier. "Lots," he told his superior. "That's not very descriptive!" Even over the radio and at close range, Simon had to scream to be heard over the noises of battle. "A lot of lots." The situation was completely out of hand. Simon's first instinct was to get to cover as far away from the mob as possible, but anyone who so much as started to run from their position would be lacerated by bullets. He fingered a smoke grenade. "Here's the plan," he told Redmond. "We both pop all of our smoke and then pitch all our grenades while the smoke gets out. Then we run like hell until we find somewhere indoors where we can take cover. Got it?" "Yeah." Redmond had already pulled out his smoke grenades. They hurled the grenades over the wall and crouched low, counted to five, and tossed the grenades after them. Simon heard the explosions and screams from those who were not killed instantly, and not for the first time wished there was a way to eliminate sound completely from inside the helmet. After another five second count, he turned to Redmond. "Alright, lets move-" He stopped. Redmond wasn't there. Simon turned to see if the Myrmidon had bailed out early, but there was no sign of him behind the wall. Feeling a sudden pang of fear slash through his chest, he looked over the wall. Redmond was charging into the smoke, Battle Rifle blazing. Over the radio Simon could hear an incoherent war-cry being screamed. Just as he was about to yell at Redmond to turn the other way, a wave of nausea swept over him. Something weird was going on with his vision... Simon didn't know what happened after that until he reviewed the video logs from his own helmet, and once he had he wished he hadn't. ---- "We've got the crash site comin' up!" Artemis yelled over the roar of the Warthog's engine. "Lots of hostiles, so don't mess up on that gun!" Apollo choked back a retort and readied his gun. The crashed chopper was approaching and he could see muzzle flashes from the survivors defending it. The first rebel came within range and the HPA agent cut him down in a hail of bullets. Just as the next few came into sight, strange bubbles enveloped his vision and he was lost in a world of training and instinct. 88 Strangely, after Jamal caught up with Gabriel and Helen, they had made it to the crash site before the HPA agents. They had gone through back alleys, blew through houses, jumped across roofs, and finally made it to the sight, and saw the smoking wreckage in the distance. The three booked it, and finally linked up with the Rangers. Helen, on instinct, took out her SPNKr, and aimed for where the largest concentration of fire was. The high-explosive rocket screamed away and slammed into the wall of a building, and the fire ceased from that sector for a while. Gabriel automatically had taken out two snipers with his SRS, and was now aiming for a third, while Jamal began to work with the Rangers to get out the pilot and co pilot. -- SPARTAN-002[The Hero] [The Team] [A New Chronicle] 02:13, 26 January 2009 (UTC) 89 Jon raised his fists and punched one of the advancing people in the face, and ran into the building. He didn't bother checking if the man was down, he needed to secure himself. and fast. "COMMAND! I NEED SUPPORT, NOW! My squad's down and I'm su-" Jon cut off as he felt a sharp pain in his knee, but he knew the pain, and as he glanced left, a cocktail, mostly likely flammable came at him, and everything seem to slow down, the bottle spun lazely in the air, but Jon knew he had to act now, and he strode forward, and what seemed to be impossible for the guy who threw it, Jon catched the bottle and threw it right back at the guy, and saw he had a Pistol on him, but he would wait until the guy stopped burning... the smell of burning flesh overtook the groundfloor. Love is Noise Love is these blues 20:10, 26 January 2009 (UTC) 90 SPARTAN-G024 and HPA Agent 2024 made it outside only to find the smouldering wreck that was their base. Amy and Maria where behind a wall popping out every now and then to fire, the HPA ran off. Josh didn't care he needed to help his comrades. Bullets impacted into his armour, just below the knee. He stumbled slightly but the pain didn't bother him. His SPI had taken most of the impact. He dropped to one knee and fired twice into the advancing Hostile. Tap, Tap. Job Done. He thought and smiled. A technique he taught his Myrmidons. A technique which was very useful now. He ran over to his comrade's and took cover behind the same wall. He made a hand signal telling Amy and Maria to move. They did. Amy first while Maria provided cover. Amy reached her position and fire a 3-round burst into the group of rebels which were getting too close. Maria next. "Move it!" Joshua screamed. Maria ran, Battle Rifle raised. Dropped to one Knee to kill a closing hostile, was just about to continue running when a round caught her in the faceplate and fell without making a sound. "NO!" Amy screamed. "Get her!" Joshua ordered "We are NOT losing another Team Member!" He swapped from Semi-Auto to Full Auto. Aimed at the nearest hostile and held the trigger down. The bullets tore through the rebel's face. It spewed blood. 16 Round's left. Another hostile came screaming "PEACE ON MIDGARD!" "Fuck off." He said calmly and preceded to shoot into the rebels chest. Amy had grabbed Maria under the arms and was dragging her back into the dormitory's. Josh fired a couple more times and he ran out of BR 55 DM-R ammo and then fell back. ''Lieutenant'' ''Mc''''Callan'' 20:41, 26 January 2009 (UTC) 91 Midgard The pod hurtled downward, its hull glowing with an unseen fire, the product of rubbing of a million tiny particles voicing their silent objection to its violent progress. If meteors and comets were portents, then this one bore nothing more than news of death. 2000....1000....The pod's altimeter a cascading flow of ever-shrinking numbers....impact. A small car packed with gun-wielding rioters were the first victims, the titanium hull ruthless crushing the thin sides of the car, pulverizing human flesh and bone, smashing on to finally come to rest in a pile of rubble in a crumbling wall. The pod crashed open, revealing an armored figure, staggering from the force of the blow, but ready for action. Stunned, the rioters did not react. The man simply pulled the trigger. ---- The roar of the chaingun was a reassuring sound. Its throaty grumble a refreshing chance from the impotence of being bombarded by impersonal foes. Ackerby simply kept the trigger depressed, the parked Heron's door gun spitting tracers at the Molotov-wielding pack determined to destroy TF 51's aerial transport, the once proud Herons and King Pelicans lying prostrate, naked upon the ground, vulnerable in the extreme. A graying man fired a pistol, a genteel man who might have been a teacher or a doctor on a quieter day, but now was just another body surging forward with destruction on its mind. The bullets hit in a crimson spray, and the man joined the small hill of corpses gathering. Ackerby glanced at the round counter, fired a last burst and leapt off, heading for the next Heron in the line, ready to turn it into a crouching iron fortress, ready to hold out as long as he could. ---- "Fall back!" It was more of a scream than an order. Santiago Nordmann was used to being the attacker, and now he was the defender, his small-unit SPECWAR 6 team a mere chip in the tidal wave baying at their feet. Gunfire rose and felling in a staccato symphony of tragedy, UNSC men and rebels falling, transfixed by the fire of their opposite numbers, men fighting for the same cause: survival. Nordmann emptied his SMG, slammed a new clip in and kept firing. Even if he was overwhelmed, he was going to take plenty with him. ---- Lee rolled behind the concrete block, an edifice which had once guarded delicate electronics, but now protected Lee's equally delicate frame. A civilian, Lee's only protection was his wits and a thin shirt, not the advanced body armor of the special operators. Grasping his pistol (how pitiful it seemed now) Lee peeked around the edge of the block. And then he saw it. The flags winging their way above the surging mob like violent birds. Each one different. Each the emblem of a group as different as the one it rubbed shoulder with in the swirling mob. The rebels. Were they a divided cause? Could they divided upon themselves? Could Task Force 51's very survival lie in turning the rebels against themselves? But questions do not win wars, only actions sparked by questions. ''FightWith '' 92 The crash site was now in full view as Artemis rammed her foot on the Warthog's pedal. She snarled a curse when she saw that the SPARTANs had somehow beaten them to the target. Strangely enough, Apollo didn't bother to offer one of his usual snide remarks from his position on the chaingun. He was blazing away on full auto without even bothering to let up as he switched between targets. The three SPARTANs seemed to be helping the injured out of the downed chopper while watching for snipers, so Artemis began to circle around the site. "Cover 'em with the gun!" she yelled to Apollo. "Priority on anyone with rockets!" Once again, no response. He was acting weird today. Artemis took her frustrations out on a lone rebel who had the misfortune of getting in the way of the speeding 'Hog. She'd need plenty more kills than that to keep up with Apollo's body count on the chaingun. Pulling to a stop directly between the chopper and the oncoming mass of rebels, she pulled out her sidearm and readied her grenades. It was going to be a rough ride. 93: MASCALSIT (Mass Casualty Situation) '''Disclaimer: All the small-molecule chemicals and factors described in Directive 5-62 are real. The long-acting biological and chemical factors do exert real effects on musculature and endurance, and were in fact recently extensively banned from the Olympics because of their effects. The short-acting psychotropic compounds are also real, and their effects in Operation: BRUSH RUNNER, the mock battle we've been fighting, are possible. Hopefully you can trust and understand that the literature supports the existence and reality of these factors and chemicals, and also hopefully you can become concerned by how the military or others can effectively have precise control of body and mind even in today's time. Skeptical? Read on. Hope it wasn't too much of a piss-off for all of you. :P UNSCSOCOM Task Force 51 (TF51) Midgard, 11 Draconis System FOB Hotel California 3/2 Strikefast (UNSC Army Special Operations Aviation) The military is a bureaucracy. It is characterized by efficiency; by the vertical transmission of orders and reports, of subordinates relaying intelligence to superiors who are at the nerve center of a complex command-and-control system where intelligence is readily received, analyzed, and decisions executed, and these directives are relayed back to subordinates for immediate execution. The military removes independent initiative, and systematically subjugates independent thought, and in its lieu, each soldier is no more than a remotely-controlled puppet trained to fight, kill, and later, die, because of the word of a commanding officer. Such were the fliers of the 3/2 Strikefast company of the 5th Special Operations Wing. And there they were, eight AV-99 Foray gunships, an entire rotary-wing Army aviation company, held high in abeyance in Midgard’s skies while their compatriots skirmished and died beneath their glistening wings. They did not commit their weapons; guns and missiles of tremendous magnitude; to the battle, thought their committance to the battle could have saved their comrades. For one Foray gunship, Golf Five-Six, had been downed, with the complete loss of its crew. And for the UNSC Special Operations Command, the life of ground infantrymen were far cheaper than that of a fully-armed Foray gunship. UNSCSOCOM would rather an entire company of soldiers die than to send one of the vulnerable Forays into an operations zone. And so 3/2 Strikefast held position in the skies, valkyries of heaven against 11 Draconis’s brilliance, and the dying special-operators of Task Force 51 could only fixatedly stare at the skies, wondering why their brothers were not rushing to their aid. Fortunately, Task Force 51 was not in the control of a typical UNSCSOCOM commander, who would rather have FOB Hotel California and all its soldiers burn rather than sacrifice a gunship attack battalion; TF51 was in the jurisdiction of Vice Admiral Kawika Son, UNSC Special Operations Command, an experienced special forces operator who had shed blood at Cambridge, on the second Forerunner Dreadnaught, and on Carinae-312, a soldier in the field who had experienced every recoiling rifle, every crazed scream, every hellish moment of thick battle. UNSC Army Special Operations Aviation doctrine lists that aerial gunship teams such as 3/2 Strikefast on the attack are capable of primary and secondary operations, reserve echelon support, deep reconnaissance, and security operations. On this day, 3/2 Strikefast would fulfill its first objective; primary direct-action support. The eight AV-99 Foray gunships of 3/2 Strikefast were supplemented by three other reserve companies to bring the entire UNSC aerial strength to one oversized attack gunship battalion (ATKGB). The orders were relayed from the Task Force Commander, VADM Son, to the Task Force Operations Officer, LTCOL Mariko, to the Task Force Aviation Commander, to the Attack Gunship Battalion Commander, to the Primary Aviation Attack Commander, CAPT Delano. “3-2 to Strikefast; firing authorization is three-kilo-nine-tango-oscar-whiskey. Hit ‘em hard. Attack team RED, you lead the game.” And so they did. UNSC Naval Special Warfare Group Six (NAVSPECWAR Six) “We need you to provide terminal attack guidance for close air support, Chief” came the voice incessantly. For Chief Petty Officer Laine Morrison of NAVSPECWAR Six, those words were long lost. The camouflaged elevated terrain-reconnaissance post that had been their sniper roost had been long abandoned after it caught fire after multiple Molotov cocktail ignitions. As the harrowing corybantic cries of the mobsters had followed them and the collapsing tower, Chief Morrison and her spotter, Petty Officer Crusoe, had carefully retreated, depending on supporting fires from a nearby Ranger platoon to suppress the unrestrained mob and to “trim them down” as the two-man Navy sniper team had made good their escape. The hellish, depraved bayings started behind her, and Morrison turned, her SOCOM BR55 DMR in hand, to see a horde of mobsters turn the corner, exploding forth towards them. Without thought, she snapped several shots at the approaching horde, then lurched Crusoe and herself around the next corner. Her voice was charged with fury as she screamed, “Mikklesen! Where are the Rangers?” Automatic weapons fire exploded in a constellation of volatile conflagrations nearby, and a slew of fire indiscriminately wrested the life from the nearest mob. They were dead. In the charged hell, she hadn’t noticed Crusoe’s incessant voice. She turned towards him, her chest heaving heavily from the exertion, the sunlight glistening over the long muscles of her neck. “Laine, the Forays need guidance for their runs.” She tossed a glance back towards Hotel California’s perimeter. “What’s the need for guidance? They’re all over the fucking place.” She heard the report of the rifle nearby, swiveled around the corner to find yet another drove barreling towards her, automatic weapons flashing. And as she saw the dead and mutilated Ranger body they paraded before them, her world vaporized into crimson fury, into a depthless galaxy of consummate rage. She dropped the SOCOM BR55 DMR, raised the 486 HMG, and screamed and screamed, drowned by the fiery sea beyond the darkness, screamed and screamed until there was nothing else. They weren’t shooting anymore. She looked overhead. UNSC Special Warfare Group SPARTAN, Myrmidon Detachment Delta The ironic thing was that they weren’t fighting. With extremely few exceptions, this was a one-sided war, an indiscriminate slaughter. The civilians weren't fighting. The mobs must’ve outnumbered Task Force 51 ten to one, but they weren’t fighting. With their limitless bodies, they were just hurling human lives at the UNSC special-operators, hurling human lives and having them shatter against TF51’s impervious shield. As Eve-005 felt herself suffocate in the depravity around her, the enraged TF51 operators indiscriminately spraying fire, trapped within their own worlds. Their own realities. Where they saw as they believed. The small-molecules hadn’t taken effect in the Myrmidons yet, and she knew that this was likely a side-effect that the cytochromes in their lives were already overwhelmed by the chemical cocktails that substantiated the child soldiers, that their metabolic systems were slow in processing the 5-62 chemicals to their active forms. Eve knew she had little time before the drugs kicked in, and a chemical hand would inexorably seize her heart, where a chemical emperor would take lordship over her. She had this little time to commit the scenes she saw to memory. She saw civilians, chanting peace calls, marching civilly, being slaughtered by UNSC special operations forces. She saw TF51 soldiers shoot pregnant women, saw commandos cleave off body parts with hacksaws, saw the world dissolve into bloody hell, Orpheus consigned to the underworld. Eve-005 defeated the System. She was beyond it. Beyond the UNSC’s military entrappings, how they destroyed lives to make perfect soldiers. She knew the Truth, and it was all she needed to know. For example, she knew that 009762-OO, the supposed small-molecule mutagen that mutagenized the higher-order association cortices in the SPARTAN-IIIs’ frontal lobes to effect executive function, she knew that the “OO” was a lie. What Lieutenant Commander Kurt-051 had based the decision to administer the 009762-OO to the SPARTAN-IIIs was based on mistruths and scientific ambiguities, from ONI scientists that had deadlines to produce miracle drugs before they paid for their lives; that the “OO” was as effective in inducing changes in behavior as sodium pentothal was in being a “truth serum”. The UNSC Department of Biological Warfare and Commodore Rowntree had done extensive research. They understood mammalian neurobiology, the molecular and chemical biology of higher-order associative cognitive function. They had turned to real scientific research grounded in the neuropsychology of the 21st and 20th centuries. Eve knew that the “blue pill” of Directive 5-62 contained a defined mixture of chemical and biological factors, made in stochiometric exacting proportions. She knew that the factors of 5-62 were divided into two regimens; a short-acting regimen and a long-acting regimen. The long-acting regimen consisted of GW1516, A-769662, recombinant BMP7, and the adenoviral vectors Myf5-PRDM16shRNA and Snai1-MyoD. GW1516, discovered by GlaxoSmithKline in 2003, was a transactivator of peroxisome proliferator-activated receptor (PPARδ). A-769662, discovered by Abbott Laboratories in 2006, was a small-molecule ligand for 5’ adenosine monophosphate-activated protein kinase (AMPK). According to Narkar et al. in 2008 at the Salk Institute in California and at the Howard Hughes medical Institute (HHMI), A-769662 increased running endurance by well over 40% even without exercise, activating a typically exercise-induced transcriptional program. GW1516, in synergy with exercise, induces a reconfiguration of myofibrils to a fast-oxidative type. BMP7 executes cellular transprogramming to convert white adipose tissue to brown adipose tissue, and the anti-PRDM16 shRNA specifically knocks down PRDM16 expression and PRDM16-associated transcriptional activity in brown adipose tissue, executing a second transprogramming event to convert brown fat to self-reorganizing myofibrils, according to Tseng et al. (2008) and Seale et al. (2008) at Joslin Diabetes Center and Dana-Farber Cancer Institute (DFCI), both associated research centers with Harvard University, located in downtown Boston. Ectopic expression of MyoD in fibroblasts is a well-known cellular transprogramming phenomenon that converts mesenchymal fibroblasts to skeletal muscle, as documented by Choi et al. in the 90s at the University of Pennsylvania. Effectively, GW1516, A-769662, BMP7, and the adenoviral vectors allowed soldiers to gain significant muscle mass and endurance without exercising. The drugs and viruses converted their bodies; fat and connective tissue, into muscle. Without exercising, the TF51 soldiers would become stronger, faster, better. While Eve had raised an eyebrow at this, it was, in her books, not unethical and immoral. If double espressos allowed soldiers to stay up longer and fight harder, drugs and viruses, though far darker, were ethically permissible. What was far more sinister was 5-62’s short-acting chemicals. The psychoactive chemicals. O-1783 was an enantiomerically-resolved aryltetrahydropropanyl methyl ester synthesized by Metzler et al. at Organix Inc. and Harvard Medical School in 2002 that was a potent inhibitor of the dopamine active transporter (DAT), increasing dopaminergic transmission. (+)-WIN-55212 was an enantiomerically-resolved aminoalkylindole analog synthesized by Compton et al. at the Medical College of Virginia in 1992 that was a cannabamimetic that activated the human CB1 and CB2 cannabinoid receptors. 2-CE, IUPAC name 2,5-dimethoxy-4-ethylphenethylamine, was a substituted phenethylamine found to have an affinity with the dopamine and serotonin reuptake transporters. JZL184 was a small-molecule inhibitor synthesized and optimized by Long et al. at the Scripps Institute in 2009 to be a potent inhibitor of monoacylglycerol lipase (MAGL), the first small-molecule probe that used that mechanism to increase 2-arachidonoylglycerol (2-AG) signaling. Selegiline is a small-molecule inhibitor of monoamine oxidase B (MAOB), synthesized by Engberg et al. (1991) at the University of Göteberg, Sweden. It was likely that at least a few of the Task Force 51 might have read the pharmacological labels of what the 5-62 “blue pill” contained before ingesting it. Of those few, it is highly unlikely that any of those had even remotely understood the molecular physiology and pharmacology of the listed four short-term small-molecule chemicals. O-1783 and 2-CE were potent monomine transporter inhibitors, increasing dopaminergic and serotoninergic transmission. What few knew was that cocaine (benzoylmethyl ecgonine) and Ritalin (methylphenidate), both had the same mechanism of action. Simply, both O-1783 and 2-CE were extraordinarily-optimized and vastly far more powerful chemical analogs of cocaine and the methylphenidates. 2-CE induced exceptionally intense audiovisual hallucinations and sensatory distortion and impairment. O-1783 extraordinarily increased short-term focus and attention, greatly heightening short-term memory and improving mental control and inhibitory refinement, as well as inducing strong euphoria. Selegiline, operating through the monoamine pathways, was similarly a potent psychostimulant, inducing extreme wakefulness, combating fatigue, and improving memory and attention. (+)-WIN-55212 was an exceptional painkiller, inducing euphoria psychosis, performing sensory alteration, and decreasing control over reality and sensation. JZL184 induced strong audiovisual hallucinations, altering perception and personality, and wiping out stress and fatigue. Collectively, Selegiline, 2-CE, the 1783, 184, and 55212 allowed for the chemical control of one’s mind. Eve-005 thought it laughable how much UNSCSOCOM resorted to physical pain to destroy one’s humanity and to torture for information, when simply, using small-molecules, one could hold one’s mind in a chemical hand and distort it however horribly however it wished. And now, Rowntree, through 5-62 was remotely reshaping all the soldiers of Task Force 51. For the next few hours, even for the next few days, they would be lost in their own realities, all their inhibitions and higher-level cognitive functions removed, humanities destroyed, deconvoluted to savagery, degraded to animals that were unable to think, only able to obey, focusing their short-term attention and memory, making them impervious to the killings, unable to remember the atrocities they were committing. And then the 5-62 chemicals kicked in, and Eve-005 too saw a world of flashing rifles and screaming rebels, and she joined the charge. 3/2 Strikefast (UNSC Army Special Operations Aviation) When Chief Morrison heard no more sound, no more rebels, it was for one reason. The Forays of 3/2 Strikefast and the fixed-wing gunship battalion had flown dozens of strike missions. Thousands of rounds fired. There were so many mobsters and protesters that they were even authorized to fire anti-tank munitions. Under the control of the chemicals, Hawthorne and his fellow fliers had no compunctions. He fired missiles that cratered tanks and buildings into crowds, shattering the lives of thousands, fired his gunship’s cannons until there was nothing left. UNSCSOCOM fired, and rebels died. New supernovae of fire birthed on Midgard, and children screamed. Rifles blazed, and the elderly and pregnant dissolved into blood. The Lampades ascended, and fingers were shorn from fingers, eyes were gouged from faces. All that were left were the desecrated dead. Not a single UNSC soldier had died. The civilians had been slaughtered. Extinguished. Vaporized. Annihilated. They were all dead. They were dead. All of them. “3-2 to Task Force. Objective confirmed. All hostiles neutralized. BRUSH RUNNER is executed.” Only one mobster still stirred. Strong hands seized him. A less welcome accommodation awaited that civilian in Hotel California’s torture chambers. RelentlessRecusant 94 It was over. All over. Blood stained the streets. Bodies were thrown everywhere. Craters marred the land, smoke spewing from their blackened holes, many with the remains of those who had been unlucky enough to been standing right next to them inside. When Jamal and his team made it back to the base, they immediately went to their private quarters, which was in an isolated section of the base. Inside of the small building, which was more of a house, really, was a kitchenette, a living room (complete with Public COM), three bedrooms, and each bedroom had its own bathroom. However, the real magic lay below the house, as there was a dungeon of sorts, where all kinds of weapons lay, as well as "back up armor". Jamal helped Gabriel and Helen with their armor, and they, in turn, helped him out of his, and now, freshly showered, shaved, and groomed, Jamal flopped down onto the couch, and looked at the ceiling. He was an old warrior, and old one indeed. However, after those massive hours that he had spent in cryo, his mind still worked as if he was a thirty year old, still single, still young, still vibrant. They had rescued the downed helicopter crew, of course, not without those HPA agents. However, the one on the chaingun seemed to be acting strange, not prioritizing his targets like he should, not shooting when he was supposed to... it was strange. Jamal wondered what Rowntree would do to that HPA Agent when Helen walked in. "Hey, we're supposed to take these pills... they're apparently going to increase our combat performance..." Gabriel, with a stunned look on his face, made his own comment. "How are they going to increase our combat performance? We're the best in the business here, and, we've fought on more worlds than those IIIs and HPA agents combined", he said, with a chuckle. "Eh... let's just take it, what's the worst that could happen? We're SPARTANs, so, if they decided to get us high or something, it wouldn't work. "No, that only happens to you, Jamal. I've been drunk plenty of times, and Helen has been drugged. However, when they tried to do the same to you... you remained sober... I wonder what's up with that..." Jamal laughed, popped the pill into his mouth, and washed it down with water. -- SPARTAN-002[The Hero] [The Team] [A New Chronicle] 02:16, 28 January 2009 (UTC) 95 (Excuse my absence, school has been a bit rough as of late, and I know that my excuses for where Tobias and Conall have been are a bit, well, bad.) Tobias opened his eyes to a bright white light; he looked away for a moment, and scratched his head, or tired to, as he couldn’t move his wrists. He looked though his blurry eyes and saw that he was in a hospital bed, and his wrists were restrained to the bed. He jerked his right hand expecting to break the restraint, but instead just pulled the bed a bit to the left. He looked closer and saw that the normal fabric of the cuff was replaced with a chain that even a Myrmidon could not break. A nurse walked by and saw that he was up, and walked over. “Finally decided to get up have you?” she said as she fixed his IVs, and checked the cuffs. “What the hell,” Tobias slurred, now feeling the effects of the drugs, explaining his inability to break the chains. “You hit your friend, and then tried to take on the rest of the Myrmidon detachment when they tried to calm you down. They eventually knocked you out, and you were ordered to be sedated until further notice.” “Shit,” Tobias said as his head hit the pillow, slipping back into a drug induced sleep. ---- Conall stepped of the pelican, back onto Midgard, back to his life; right after Tobias knocked him out when they were attacking the convoy he was sent away, still in recovery, to an awaiting ONI ship in orbit above. He had been chosen for experimental interrogation, and ONI needed him trained right away. He had heard what had happened to TF51 while he was gone, and a part of him was angry that he missed the action, but another part of him was glad, he could finally help TF51 in a more, direct, way. He was shown down a series of corridors heading towards the bowls of the complex, until finally they came into a room with a large dark window into another. Both rooms had next to nothing inside them, the one they were standing in just had some recording equipment, both audio and video, and a few chairs for people to watch and make sure that he did not take things to far. The other room was bare, besides a camera in the corner, and an occupied chair. The man was half asleep, his hands handcuffed to the back to the chair. It was time for some fun… [[User:H3|'Blake']] Talk 96 Half a mile away from the Hotel California compound in a camouflaged lookout post, a single man watched the massacre through the scope of a sniper rifle. Clad in a black uniform that looked like it belonged to a special forces operator, he calmly adjusted the sight on the rifle as the civilians were butchered. A tsk''ing noise emanated from his masked face. "And I thought ''I was supposed to be the bad guy." The masked and helmeted head shook slowly from side to side. "Poor 2994. Always too loyal for your own good. You really should have remembered that before you hired me to do a little slicing." The man formerly known as Agent 2042 glanced away from the grisly scene and checked the status on his mobile computer: Still searching for connection. Internet problems were such a drag. With a dramatic sigh, 2042 got to his feet. Since his first means of getting information was being denied to him, he'd have to do things the old fashioned way. Within the course of a minute the hiding place had been concealed within the rocks to such an extent that someone would have to walk on top of it to discover any evidence. Then he began his approach towards the most fortified place on Midgard. Getting in would be a welcome challenge. 97 Jon Harper walked outside, and as he saw the corpses, he knew cavalry had arrived, but he walked off to see where he dropped his guns, holding a pistol he took from the guy he roasted. He got to a pile of remains when he exclamied in some major way of pain, and in his mind, he saw images... flashing lights... then his eyes glossed over and he saw the gunship open fire on the people who was chasing him it seems, and he could piece from what he heard earlier Screaming... the flash of a Barrel on the Gunship, and the people being torn apart, but then... He snapped out of it, lying on his back, but he didn't stand up. He noticed the birds, but he was more concerned about what just happened. It had never hurt like that before. Love is Noise Love is these blues 09:12, 31 January 2009 (UTC) 98 Simon had been stumbling about the battlefield in a trance when the drugs finally wore off and the world returned to him in all of its ruthless misery. All around him were bodies, heaped like so much trash that had spilled from a garbage can. Those small patches of ground that were not covered by corpses were sticky with blood. At first, he had been surprised by the absence of all the bullet holes in the surrounding walls that had been present before... what? He couldn't remember much of anything after he had gone leaping after Redmond besides a period of being lost in a terrifying daze of fear and hate and instinct. Indistinct flashes kept leaping out at him from nowhere: screaming rebels, bullets flying in every possible direction, the hilt of his knife protruding from a burly terrorist's throat. He had found Redmond, rendered unconscious from sheer exhaustion, and had gotten him to Hotel California's medical facilities, where he had learned that the Myrmidon had also broken a few fingers and suffered some fractures on his knuckles and palm. This had immediately concerned Simon. What had the Myrmidon been doing that could have caused his augmented bones to suffer damage? They would have had to have endured multiple body-crushing impacts for even the smallest of cracks to begin to appear. After returning to the gory site of his reawakening, Simon had scoured the area for any signs of the massive battle he remembered. Aside from a few scattered bullet holes and the mounds of dead bodies, there was little evidence suggesting that those torrents of grenades and bullets he and Redmond had taken shelter from were real. Growing both confused and afraid, Simon had ignored the indignity of picking through the corpses to find weapons. There were none, but he simply could not begin to glean the truth of what had happened until he found the banner. It was made of light blue cloth, the one might adorn a newborn's crib with, although the color was hard to discern through the dried blood that encrusted the banner's entirety. Simon had cleared away the coagulated blood until a single emblem could be identified. It was an archaic symbol, a circle with three lines in its center, one that had originated on a twentieth century Earth and that stood for peace. After clearing more blood away, Simon had been able to read the words Stop the Murder! Peace for Midgard!. With his brain now churning into overtime, the true horror of what had just taken place had begun to dawn on Simon. He spent the next few hours performing routine tasks as an icy fist clenched ever tighter upon his heart. When he was finally able to return to his quarters, he unclipped his armor and slipped into a standard military jumpsuit, the kind that one would wear during spend off-hours and sleep in. Pulling the video log chips from the back of his discarded helmet, he gazed down at the small things sitting in the palm of his hand. They held the key to understanding what had just taken place, the missing link to the blank patch in his memory. But did he really want to know? Wouldn't it be safer to discard them and get on with life? No, he thought numbly. I need to know this. Slipping the record logs into his portable computer, he slipped a pair of earphones onto his head and began to watch. The first part of it he could remember clearly: the jog with Redmond down to the hot zone, the mob of people that had been waiting for them. But some things were different. There was no gunfire or explosions, no Rangers being blown apart or being hacked to death with machetes. In fact, as he and Redmond were taking cover behind the low wall, there was hardly gunfire at all, and the source of these shots was not the rebels but the UNSC forces. Simon was thoroughly confused, but his puzzlement turned to shocked horror right after he had leapt out of cover to haul Redmond back. Right where his memory ended. The images... the images were too terrible to take in completely, and so Simon had to make do with the snatches that managed to get from his eyes to his brain. A group of civilians holding a banner were gunned down by what could only be his own weapon... A youth only a few years younger than Simon, attempting to crawl backwards in the mud before a pistol shot blew out his brains... His combat knife, thrust into the jugular of a pregnant woman... All of this and more flashed on the screen before him in a satanic parade of violence and murder. But the worst part was not the images, but the sounds. Especially the bits of his own voice that managed to get through the gunfire and screams for mercy. The voice wasn't talking at all. It was giggling, or something similar to giggling. Little animal noises of pleasure at the death and violence around it, the sound of something that had truly found happiness. Whatever had taken him over was enjoying the slaughter. After only five minutes of viewing, Simon could not bear to watch any more. He snapped the computer off and buried his face in his hands. I tried. I tried to be good, to be sane in a world of insanity. But all the talking and moralizing and justification, empty words. First the convoy, now this. We're all monsters here, all the same. He choked back a sob of despair. I didn't want to get involved again, I wanted to live my life. I didn't sign up to kill little kids and unborn babies. Why me? It was then, in that moment of complete hopelessness, that he realized the entire truth. The pills! The drugs did that to us, made us hallucinate. But why? The grief began to slowly turn to anger. He had made the mistake of trusting the UNSC again, of thinking that it had changed for the better. He had again placed his life willingly in their hands and they had used him, just like they always had. They played me for a fool. They played us all for fools. Removing the video log, Simon closed a trembling fist around the data chip and squeezed, crushing the wretched thing to a pulp. Opening his fingers, he glanced briefly at the battered remnants before allowing his gaze to drift to his arms. They were skinny arms with only the barest hints of muscle about them. He shouldn't be able to crush an apple, much less a durable video log. But he could because of the drugs detached and uncaring strangers had pumped into his body when he was twelve years old. They did this to me, he thought as a fury he had not felt in over five years began to stir once more within him. They made me into a freak, a monster. But I'm not just a freak. I'm a freak among freaks, an anomaly. An incompetent SPARTAN. A treacherous SPARTAN. He would never, could never, hold a true place in the UNSC, and that realization only increased his fury. The rage had gained inertia now, and once more it coursed through his veins, no longer hindered by petty barricades of trust and doubt. It pulsed in every fiber of his being as he stood in the darkened room, alone and shaking. That hatred, that spite, that had allowed him to keep going for all that time he and Cassandra had been on the run, had returned in full force. Simon felt truly alive. And then, just as quickly as it had come, the anger subsided as he took a few calming breaths. The anger was useful as a motivator, but he had endured the consequences of allowing it to control his actions. This time he would be calm and logical about what he was going to do. No revenge killings, no blatant attack on the UNSC. He would have to be content with the knowledge that he had spat in the UNSC's face and lived to tell the tale. The time had come to end his employment under a government that had used him and lied to him, that had stolen his life just as it had done to the lives of all who became ensnared within it. Behind him, the door opened. "It can wait, Redmond. I need to rest right now." When there was no response, Simon knew it was someone else. Perhaps they had been sent to kill him now that he had outlived any semblance of usefulness. His weapons were all in the pile with his armor where he had left them. There was no way to defend himself, just as there had been no way to defend himself back in that cabin on Hekate, as his enemies closed in around him and tightened their noose. And just as he had then, he found that he didn't care. What use was survival if there was nothing to live for? Simon turned to face his death only to see Cassandra standing in his doorway. One look at her face was all Simon needed to tell him that she knew what had happened as well. "Now do you see?" he hissed, the pent up anger finding somewhere to go. "Now do you understand why I didn't want to come back?" She may have been toughened slightly by renewed military life, but the harsh words still made her flinch. "Simon-" "We don't matter, we don't count. We're just pawns in their game of power and control. But maybe things like that don't matter to you. After all, aren't we SPARTANs. They aren't supposed to ask questions about the big picture now are they?" She shut her eyes for a moment before speaking. "I came to see if you were going to desert again." "I'm considering it." Ideas on how to escape had been racing around his head ever since he had crushed the data files. "Then I won't be coming with you. Not again. I'm sorry, but I can't." It was this last pronouncement that brought the insane farce that was his entire life crashing down around him. Looking at his former teammate, he could not remember feeling so alone in all his life. "You really think I'm that selfish, don't you? You didn't realize that I watched you torture yourself all those months we were on the run? That I watched you at every turn because I knew you'd kill yourself if I gave you half the chance?" Simon gave a small shake of his head. "My life's over now. The only reason I'd take you along with me would be if there was actually something to live for." She made to leave, but stopped in mid-motion. "Now you know how it feels." "Yeah." Cassandra left then, and Simon closed his eyes and covered his face once more. No, he wouldn't take her with him. Neither would he drag Redmond into this. The Myrmidon would mourn for weeks, maybe months, but he would adapt just like he'd been trained. But Simon wouldn't be deserting either. He'd do everything by the book this time. He would resign and then he would find a quiet place to face justice for the crimes he had unknowingly committed. Self-justice. The life of the murderer for the lives of the murdered. True justice. But first he wanted to be finished with the UNSC. He didn't want to die while still a pawn. With a quiet sigh of unspeakable despair, Simon filled out a short resignation form, one he kept along with the single-shot pistol and the EMP grenade in his "ways out" bag. After completing it, he left his room to go find Admiral Son. 99 Lee felt the strong hands under his arms, pulling him upwards, two lithe SPECWAR operators lifting him with ease back into his upturned wheelchair, its spindled wheels forlornly protruding skywards at awkward angles. A wave of dizziness passed swept forward, only to come sharply in impact with the reality of consciousness. No longer was the wreckage he saw clogging the compound the shells of burnt-out technicals or the corpses of terrorists bristling with weapons, but small mountains of human tragedy, still humps of blackened, scarred, bullet-torn heaps of men and women. The colorful banners that had been held aloft were now blood red, dyed with the crimson of hate and war. This was not war. This was not justice. This was a massacre. Yet the stark realization of the present was in sharp conflict with Lee's vision of the past. He and hundreds of TF51 operators had been fired upon and had fired back, fully in compliance with the ROE. But the absence of a single weapon in the prostrate remanants of hundreds, not even a single pistol or grenade clashed with this perception. What was the truth? What had really happened?" And then a single thought flashed to mind, two names entwined in the sudden curtailing of thousands of others. ''Rowntree and Son. ---- The spinning barrels finally ground to a halt, their white hot lengths weary from the death they had so willingly spat. Ackerby slumped backwards, his hands a beaten pulp from the constant pounding of the minigun as he had so desperately dispatched fiery leaden messengers into their swirling midst. The job was done. The flight line saved. The crouching rows of helicopters spared from the storm of livid, living mankind. But now that storm had abated, its debris not splinters or trash, but the muted peaks of dead flesh, torn apart by the maelstrom that had lept from spinning barrels, shredded by beasts who now lay warped, dormant in the muted death they had so loudly heralded. Yet the heaving mass of flesh was not a monster, not a beast determined to consume all that stood before it, yet a protesting spark of concerned fire, striving not for war, but for peace. This was a case of murder. The verdict: Guilty. ---- Nordmann gently fingered the blood-encrusted banner, the coagualting crimson already darkening to burgundy. The screaming figures that had once lodged themselves in the most primeaval instincts of self-preservations were now vanished, the visages of terrorists replaced with the visages of the terrified. Around him the hardened SPECWAR men were doing likewise, some with tears streaming from beneath their helmet visors. These were mothers and daugthers, children and ancients, not killers. Their display of the most noble of human qualities had been crushed by a display of the most ignoble. Nordmann had killed men with his bare hands before, gouged out eyes, punched stomachs, snapped bones with single blows, all with no remorse. Yet now he found himself weaping over the bodies of those his rifle had silenced. A handful of impersonal barks had brought his spirit closer to the dead than a thousand stabs and punches. The job is done. May God have mercy on our souls. ---- The scent of blood gently drifted into Niel Van Warden's nostrils, the same scent which would unleash many a predator into a frenzy now only muted the emotions of a killer. "What have we done? What have... what have I'' done?" The corpses sat muted, the living sat in equal silence. One unfeeling, the other toppled by unvarnished emotion. The images of the stunned faces that had melted away before Niel's fire, shrieking chants, screams, cries, moans, then nothing. The gentle bulk of the M6G tugged at his hip, drawing hand to gun in a shaking moment. Hand to head in final resolution, ultimate penance. But the bullet was not as faithful as its comrades. 'FightWithHonor' 100 As Daniel Jackson and his FORCE RECON Operators wandered Hotel California, Jackson and most of the Operators were Angry and Exhausted after the Conflict. Jackson, by far more angrier than ever, had wandered the Base in search of any Rebels that were alive. There were none. "Ah Fuck, I need to find some fuckin Bastards" thought Jackson. Then, Daniel Jackson saw some movement. He saw an severely wounded Rebel, seemigly laying unconscious on the Ground and but was moving or twitching his legs. So, Jackson approached the near-dead Rebel with his BR in Hand, "This is for the UNSC, you piece of Shit" said Jackson as he raised his BR. Daniel Jackson raised his BR, aimed, and shot the Rebel through the Forehead. Now, for sure, every Rebel was dead. The FORCE RECON Operators saw him, but didn't really care. Afterwards, Jackson saw an Camera looking at Him, possibly recording the entire Scene, but Jackson didn't care and felt no regret. Then, Jackson popped an Pill in his Mouth and filled his Mouth with Water from his Canteen. Daniel Jackson and his FORCE RECON Operators continued to move on.... ShockTrooper 101 Joshua-G024 took out the recording chip in his helmet and place it onto the TV. ''Let's see what really happened. Josh thought he had been confused as some of the Rebels had been armed, but the UNSC seemed to shot everyone. He fastforwarded to the part when Maria got it. It seemed there was very little fire, not as much as he remembered, he saw a FORCE RECON Operator turn at Maria and fire. Then he quickly turned back to fight the rebels. "Them Bastards!" he shouted "What?" Amy said, she was in the other room getting food. "The UNSC shot us, they Hit Maria! Kawika Son is Dead! He betrayed us!" Joshua quickly resuited up in his armour, and loaded his rifle making sure he had enough clips to kill anyone in his way. "Ready?" "Like fuck I am" he said. Amy and Joshua moved out, making sure they saved one bullet for the bastard that betrayed them. ''Lieutenant'' ''Mc''''Callan'' 08:33, 8 February 2009 (UTC) 102 Jon walked back towards the base, a Pistol attached to his hip, and smiled slightly. He had not died, which was well for him, but as he made it in, he watched two SPARTANs stride off, and Jon felt that something was up, and so keeping his distance, he followed them, keeping in the shadows, and waited. What was they up to? Love is Noise Love is these blues 11:05, 8 February 2009 (UTC) 103 "So the medicine is working?" "Yeah. My dreams aren't bothering me much anymore." Dr. George Talner, TF51's resident psychiatrist, stroked his silver beard. "I'd still like to up the dosage once more, see if we can't eliminate them completely. Do you mind?" "So long as they don't make me drowsy or sluggish then I can't see any problem with it," Apollo told the aging doctor. "I haven't slept so well since I rejoined the military." "Good, good." Dr. Talner slid his chair away from his desk and rolled over to collect the pills from his medicine cabinet. "And your other problems?" "No change. I still feel sluggish when I'm not in combat and no matter how much sleep I get I still feel crazy tired when I'm not fighting or doing any physical activity." Dr. Talner was confined at all to either a wheelchair or crutches by his missing left leg, blown off above the knee. He had told Apollo that at the end of the Human-Covenant War he had been doing some front line research and experimentation when a Covenant torpedo had detonated inside his underground bunker, killing the entirety of his research staff and leaving him a cripple. "I did get all of our files out without any damage to their contents," he had said. "So it wasn't a complete loss." Now he wheeled back to Apollo and handed him the pills. "I don't think I can help you with anything on that point," he said with a regretful shake of his head. "Unless you were willing to be the prototype for a new kind of therapy an old colleague of mine is doing..." Apollo did not like the sound of the word "prototype", but it was obvious that the man desperately wanted him to stay a little longer. Even with his mile-long list of certificates and awards for mental sciences he received very little patients, and he always seemed so glad to have visitors, even if they were in the middle of a nervous breakdown. With a mental shrug, Apollo decided to humor him. "I really don't think I'm game," he told the doctor. "But go ahead and tell me what the therapy is." Talner grinned with genuine enthusiasm. "Well, when I was younger I was the head of a minor program that was doing research with AIs. Specifically the interaction between an AI and the human mind. It was this that I was working on when I had my... accident." Apollo leaned forward. "Go on." "Well, the program was deemed unsuccessful and a waste of money by my superiors and I was never able to get another team or funding to continue my research." Talner sighed. "It really was the end of my scientific career. All of the money the UNSC had "wasted" made me rather unpopular, and I myself was too determined to restart the program to conceive of anything else. In the end I was forced to abandon any further attempts at constructive research. What with my extensive study of the mind, I saw a career in psychiatry and took it." "But the therapy?" "Well, this colleague I spoke of earlier contacted me about a year ago, asking for some of the data I had collected over the course of the project. When I asked him why, he told me that he had begun designing dumb AIs that were designed for one purpose and one purpose only: to monitor and stimulate the human mind. Imagine, will you, the marvels such things could bring about! Post-traumatic stress, depression, all forms of mental illness, wiped out by the use of these AIs. They could monitor and tweak emotions, pull a human being out of the mental gutter in mere weeks." Talner was no longer looking at Apollo but rather through him as he imagined the possibilities of this new idea. "Of course," he added as his gaze became focused again, "such therapy would require the use of helmets and wires and all sorts of expensive procedures, not nearly as elegant or ambitious as my project. No, mine only needed a few hours worth of surgery. We tried the process on many subjects, only to be met with failure and death time after time again." "What exactly were you trying to do?" asked Apollo as a small frown formed on his face. "Why, we were trying to permanently insert an AI within a human cranium," said the former director of Project Symbiote. "If all of your subjects died then I can see why your funding got pulled. Why would your buddy want information from you if you never had any success?" "I never said that we never had success, only that we had mostly failures. Our last subject survived the insertion of a smart AI with no apparent mental deterioration. I won't bore you with the details, but we even managed to eliminate the seven year lifespan, ensure that she could remain operable indefinitely so long as the host survived. But we lost all trace of the subject after releasing him so that we could monitor his performance, and about a week after that came the unfortunate incident involving that missile. I was only saved when a team of SPARTAN-IIIs arrived in my bunker and patched me up, but by that time it was too late. I had lost too many subjects and AIs and the program was canceled." "Yeah, I'm not going in for either idea doc," Apollo grunted. "I haven't ever liked the idea of having to share a helmet with an AI, and sharing a mind is even crazier." He stood to leave. "Thanks for the meds." Apollo reached the door but stopped as something crossed his mind. "Out of curiosity, did you ever find out what happened to your subject?" "Why he's here, serving in Task Force 51! I could scarcely believe it when I learned of his presence, but he's still functioning, though not very well according to the young lady who happens to be my other routine patient besides yourself." Shaking his head, Apollo decided he didn't really want to know any more. ---- He reached his room and stepped into its pleasant darkness. The place was a mess, and Apollo knew that he'd have to stop putting off cleaning it sometime. He turned the lights to dim and turned to his desk. But there was already someone sitting at it. Apollo stared down the barrel of a silenced pistol that was aimed at the center of his forehead. "Hello 2994," said Agent 2042. "Miss me?" 104 Red Songbird felt the gentle crunch of boot upon charred bone, the final submission of death before the cruelty of life. Behind him, he heard the same sounds as the FORCON operators as they wended their way through the wreckage an orgy of modern firepower. ALBANY COBRA's aftermath was a heap of burnt corpses and fired vehicles. Overturned trucks and riddled Warthogs. Red Songbird spoke, his hard voice hinted with a more soulful accent. "Sergeant Lovejoy, anything you want us to do?" "Just do your thing, Kev." Lovejoy's use of the informal spoke of poor military etiqutte, Corporal though Red Songbird was. She wasn't even supposed to be in command. Hell, if it hadn't bee for her dad, she wouldn't even be in the Army. Typical of her to grab a cushy spot in recon, avoid any hope of god forbid...fighting. Lovejoy was the FORCON assistant platoon leader, but thanks to some maintenance SNAFU, the Heron carrying the platoon leader had been forced to turn back, and now Sergeant Lovejoy was in command. "I didn't even want this job," Lovejoy thought "let that Indian guy take over, he seem to no what he's doing." But Red Songbird was not a mind reader and a verbal reply seemed in order to satisfy the scowling soldier. "No Kev...I mean Corporal, carry on." "Very well. First team, take a look at those trucks, and take the Gieger with you." Red Songbird was referring to the small radiation counter every UNSCSOCOM team carried into potential NBC (Nuclear Biological Chemical) situations. "Why did Lovejoy have to be so freakin' difficult! She has the chevrons for cryin' out loud. If they made her a Sarge, she needs to act like one not a freakin' buck private." "Sir, you might want to take a look at this." The FORCON commandos were crouched around the shell of a destroyed truck, its occupants scorched into the grotesque, its cargo trickling out the perforated frame like the sands of time ill-spent, ghostly white. "Geiger went nuts the moment we got close." The Geiger's operator seemed almost apologetic for disturbing the obviously grouchy Red Songbird. "It's like a freakin' Chernobyl!" Evidently at least one of the FORCON men was not as observant. "What set it off?" "We think its that powder sir, but I don't think I can say for certain." Red Songbird stepped towards the tiny pile of scattered bright powder, its random patterns mandala-like in the ashes of death. "Ah sir you might not want to touch that..." But Red Songbird paid no heed. He gently sifted the dust in his gloved hands, forming shifting phantoms in the gentle breeze. The he saw the logo, the tiny device half-buried in the disturbed sand. "Oh God, no. Acumen." FightWithHonor 105 Apollo raised his eyebrows at the weapon pointed at his forehead. "I really hate to say this, but life outside of any professional military seems to have made you a bit amateurish 2042." 2042 was wearing what appeared to be a black special forces uniform. He had set his helmet on the bed, leaving his face fully revealed as he held Apollo at gunpoint. "Do tell." "We both know that if you wanted me dead you'd have done it when my back was turned as I shut the door. We don't waste time giving dramatic speeches and all that. And the whole Miss me line was rather poorly done. I thought you were on the run." 2042 smiled. "I am. Didn't you read my message? About a thousand special forces troopers are spread around UNSC space screaming for my blood." "So waltzing into a base full of more special forces troopers is your idea of running away, is it?" "Well, you seemed busy enough killing civ-" 2042 paused and shook his head. "Never mind that. I'm here because it's the most logical place I could go to continue the... investigation you hired me for. I don't leave jobs half done, 2994. It's bad for business." "I keep forgetting how much of a mercenary you've become," muttered Apollo. "I thought you said in your message that you expected me to do my duty when I met you?" "So I did. But have you stopped to ask yourself what your duty actually is?" Apollo answered with a phrase he had learned very early on in his training. It was one of the first things he had learned after being stripped of his memory at the age of six. "To protect and serve the UNSC." 2042 laughed. "Even civilian life couldn't drum that line out of you, could it? But what exactly is the UNSC? A military organization that sees fit to keep something as inconsequential as the supposed end of the known world a secret or the trillions of people that may die because of some political bullshit?" For the first time in his (remembered) life, Apollo's complete devotion and unfailing obedience to his orders wavered. The mercenary's words had cut through a shell of indoctrination and struck him in a part that had been built up during five years of civilian life. He was, for once, at a loss for words. With a sigh, 2042 holstered the pistol. "All I'm asking is that you turn a blind eye and perhaps do a little acting if we ever have to actually fight. I will need your access codes-" Apollo shook himself from his stupor. "I can do the first two things," he said quietly. "But not the last one." "How am I supposed to find anything important out if I can't get in the system?" "There is one guy... a Lieutenant Commander who, from what I've heard, doesn't like the UNSC that much at all." "Would this be the illustrious Simon-G294 we're talking about? Child soldier, only SPARTAN to ever desert the UNSC, etc.?" Apollo frowned. "You read his file?" "With you're access codes, I read just about every classified personnel file in the mainframe, and I've done some listening around the base. These SPARTAN-IIs don't like us that much, you know. Have you been spouting your HPA superiority speeches again, or do they just have a chip on their shoulder about us?" "I gave up on the speeches a while back," muttered Apollo, thinking of SPARTAN-141. "Shame, they were quite entertaining at times. Well, I guess I'll just have to ask the SPARTANs themselves if I have the time." 2042 stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see if our young friend is willing to betray the UNSC again." As 2042 brushed passed Apollo, the latter spoke up. "When you said you read all of the files... did you read one that rendered you unable to eat or drink for a time?" "You mean the Blackburn file? I managed to down some crackers and water by the third day. It takes a lot to make guys like us squeamish, but..." 2042 winced at the memories before donning his helmet and striding from the room. Category:RP